by Archer, Kate
The drawing room had gone on tense and silent afterward and thankfully it did not go on long. Kitty had tripped in with her usual cheerfulness and complimented her father on one of his horses. That, and a generous glass of port, had gone a good way to soothing Lord Mendbridge’s ruffled feathers.
Dear Kitty had also been successful in convincing her aunt that they should be off and away from Newmarket at first light. Mrs. Wellburton had been exceedingly cheerful over it as they rode in the carriage. It seemed she believed Penny to be put out about not being able to take part in the race, she was not at all sorry to go, and was happy to note that Mr. Thornbridge also planned to be in Bath so they would likely see him there. Her own interests were so thoroughly engaged in the scheme that she was as satisfied as she might have been had it been her own idea.
They had entered the club amidst half of Newmarket standing on the street and cheering their arrival. Unlike a London ball, where footmen would chase away any gawkers, it was a tradition for all and sundry to welcome those arriving to the club for the ball. Of course, leaving was another matter. At that point in the night many a man lounging in the street would be the worse for drink and would be chased off, lest they become too impertinent. For now, though, the crowd was of a happy temperament.
Penny handed over her cloak and had been given her card. Mrs. Wellburton was soon spotted by Mr. Thornbridge and he hurried to her. Penny and Kitty left their party still in the hall, as her father and Lord Cabot had been besieged with congratulations from admiring gentlemen. Penny sniffed over the idea. Lord Cabot had done nothing to earn such accolades. If the truth were known, it would be herself congratulated. Still, she supposed she must be grateful that the truth was not known.
Once she and Kitty entered the ballroom, they were near surrounded by hopeful gentlemen. Unlike a usual ball, where half the unattached men could be counted on to arrive late, most of the gentlemen were staying at the club and had only to walk downstairs. Penny knew from her father that the club considered it bad form to turn up tardy to it. Not even Lord Grayson was given leave to delay over some perceived imperfection in his neckcloth.
Her card filled rapidly, some by gentlemen she was acquainted with and some who had just arranged a hasty introduction. She must feel the compliment of it, and never more than when she had so recently wondered if she were careening into spinsterhood. Though, as seemed to be becoming usual, she could not say she was delighted with some of the gentlemen. Lord Grayson had taken the first and Lord Dalton had taken supper. At least Lord Burke was in the mix and would interrupt the dreariness.
Kitty was no less popular, though she had initially wondered if she ought not stay at home, as her parents had not been asked about this particular entertainment. Lord Mendbridge had scoffed at the notion. The ball was not to be over-large and he could personally vouch for the respectability and behavior of the club’s members. The matter had been happily settled and Kitty had dressed.
Kitty’s parents need not worry over even a hint of impropriety, Penny was certain. Though Kitty was sought after, by none more than the persistent Lord Grayson, she would not lose her head. Penny supposed Lord Cabot might choose the moment to gain his aim with Miss Dell, but he’d have a steep hill to climb to convince her he was not, in fact, an ox head. He might be exceedingly learned, but he had done far too fine a job at hiding it.
As Penny stood talking to various gentlemen, she kept one eye on the door. She knew very well she looked to see when the ox head would finally make his way in. She had fairly resigned herself to being an idiot. After all, she could not at once claim that she was full of good sense and also that she’d ridden his horse to victory that morning. She could not say that she was a sensible individual, and had also rescued a man who had been cruel to her and was now intent on securing her friend, either for love of her or her money. Those things were so diametrically opposed as to cause her logical mind to throw up its hands in despair of reason.
She was a fool, a Marianne Dashwood, and she well knew it. However, she would regain her composure and her spirits in Devon. That was what she must keep her thoughts on. This night might seem endless, but it would only last so many hours. At dawn, she would be off. She was determined to get into the coach and not look back. This nonsense must end.
Lord Cabot entered the ballroom. Penny’s heart fluttered, as it did whenever he suddenly presented himself. She did not condemn herself over it, she was long past that, but only sympathized with her poor heart and assured it that the infirmity would not last.
He made straight for her and held out his hand. “Miss Darlington, if I might?”
She handed over her card. The last dance of the evening was free and she supposed he would be determined to take it, out of deference to her father. He need not, her father would be entirely incognizant of anything but the various conversations he would have with other men about the races.
Lord Cabot stared at her card, his expression showing his consternation. “Grayson for the first? Dalton for supper?”
Penny did not see how she would be expected to answer such comments, and so said nothing. Lord Cabot hastily put down his name in the last remaining spot. He stormed off in the direction of Lord Dalton.
*
Despite Mrs. Payne insisting that they ought to be asleep, Doom and Rupert had convinced her that they could only begin to think about dozing off if they had tea and something to eat. As much as the lady put her faith in sleep as the great restorative, she could not be easy with the idea of anybody in her sphere of influence going hungry. She’d bustled about in her kitchen and brought in a large tray of tea, biscuits, cold ham, rolls, mustard, pickled beets, two large slices of cake, and her legendary fishpaste sandwiches.
Since then, Doom and Rupert had worked their way through everything edible, except for the beets, which neither of them could abide. Mrs. Payne’s regular and thunderous snores drifted in from the parlor.
Doom had been at once this way and then the other way over whether to tell Rupert the truth of what had happened to him at the races. If it were himself, he’d desperately want to know it. On the other hand, Doom would never reveal anything that might hurt Miss Darlington.
He decided to test the waters.
“Rupert,” he said, dusting the crumbs from his nightshirt, “now that you’ve had time to recover and think it over, have you managed to piece together what happened this morning?”
Rupert ate the last bite of cake with considerable relish and said, “I see flashes of scenes in my mind, they come on all sudden-like. Just a minute ago, I remembered that I was talkin’ to the other fellas about zebras. I seen a sketch of ’em once in a book and I got it in my mind that I ought to ride them.”
“At the Royal Menagerie?” Doom asked.
“No, Africa,” Rupert said. “Though now that I’m thinkin’ on it, I reckon it would take months to even get there.”
“What else do you remember?” Doom asked casually.
“It’s not so much what I remember or don’t,” Rupert said, “as it is things that don’t add up. How is it I remember talkin’ of zebras, but I don’t remember an entire race? Not a shred of memory of saddlin’ up Bucephalus or going out there or comin’ back. One minute I’m ridin’ zebras and the next Miss Darlington is standin’ over me….”
Doom watched Rupert with interest. The fellow’s expression was disconcerting, almost as if he’d received a great shock.
“That’s it!” Rupert said. “I couldn’t have rode that horse!”
Doom’s hand tightened on his teacup. “Why do you say so?” he asked.
“On account of rememberin’ Miss Darlington ordering me into my colors. I was just into them when the boys came in. After the race. If I’d tried to ride without the colors, I’d a been thrown off the turf. I can’t suppose I had ’em on, then took ’em off, then put ’em back on again, all in the space of minutes now can I?”
Doom was beginning to think he’d have to tell Rupert the whole story. It m
ight be the only way to convince the man not to go spouting off about not being in his colors until after the race.
“But,” Rupert sputtered, “somebody rode her. If it weren’t me, who was it? Why do they not claim it?”
Doom took in a deep breath. “Rupert,” he said, “I’m gonna tell you the facts of the case, but you got to keep the information close. If it were known, it’d cause…a lot of problems.”
Rupert set down his teacup and said, “Well?”
A half hour later, Doom had finished with the tale of how Rupert came to be congratulated for riding a horse he’d never ridden.
“But Miss Darlington?” Rupert whispered. “Why would she…”
Doom nodded sagely. Though the whole house was ranged against Lord Cabot, and it was supposed that Miss Darlington despised him, he had come to the only conclusion possible. There could only be one reason the lady had dared to ride for the lord.
“Love,” Rupert said musingly. “It do strange things to people.”
Chapter Sixteen
Penny was eager to see the end of this ball. As she had expected, Lord Grayson had spent all of the first dance expounding on the charms of Miss Dell. His attentions were getting so particular that Penny had decided to caution Kitty once again when they had a moment alone. It was not that Penny thought for a moment that Kitty could be fooled by the consummate fool, it was that Lord Grayson’s latest infatuation was always talked of. Society would insist on discussing whether or not the preferred young lady had pinned her hopes and what was to be the end of it. She suspected that gentlemen might even lay bets about it in their clubs and she would not like Kitty to find herself the subject of gossip.
After she’d gladly ended the first with Lord Grayson, Lord Burke was momentary reprieve. He was pleasant as ever, though more subdued than Penny was used to seeing him. Penny did not pry into what might trouble him, as one never knew how a gentleman’s bets had fared at Newmarket.
Lord Dalton had been as genial a dinner partner as he was capable of being, she supposed. Though he had attempted to revisit the idea that Lord Cabot was soon to reveal himself the scholar to Miss Dell, Penny had abruptly changed the subject. She had no wish to keep herself apprised of Lord Cabot’s schemes. Every mention of it felt a slap to herself. Lord Dalton, being a gentleman, if not a particularly genial one, turned the conversation to horses.
All of that had been got through and Penny felt she now approached the final fence after a long day in the saddle. She was almost back to the stable, but for the tedious minuet that must close the ball.
Penny well remembered it from last year, though Kitty had studied the steps sent out ahead of time as she had never danced it. The club liked to keep some of its habits peculiar and rooted in history and so would hold on to the dance as a mark of some distinction. That nobody cared much for the dance and it had fallen out of favor would only serve to cement its worthiness more fully into the club members’ minds. There had once been some talk of it being distasteful in its French origins, but the club claimed the French had stolen it from the Italians and then the English had so much improved it as to make it English.
The dance had not been a particular favorite for Penny last year, but this year it would be downright agonizing. Last year, she had been squired about the floor by Mr. Haveleigh, a nondescript gentleman who had congratulated himself on his mastery of the steps. This year, though, she must face Lord Cabot.
Just this dance, Penny reminded herself. Then, she would be off. She would not see Lord Cabot for many months and by that time her heart would be rid of him completely.
“Miss Darlington,” Lord Cabot said, holding out his hand.
She laid her glove atop it and allowed herself to be led, ignoring the heat that always emanated from the gentleman’s hand.
They separated to take their places, the music struck up and Penny curtsied to Lord Cabot’s bow. They began en effaçant l’épaulé in silence.
As they passed each other, Lord Cabot said, “Miss Darlington, I must speak.”
“And so you are speaking, Lord Cabot,” Penny said warily. There was an urgency to his tone that she did not like.
“I know all,” he said.
Penny felt a tightening in her chest, despite the sedate nature of the dance. How could he know she had ridden Bucephalus? He could have only found out from Rupert. Why did not that groom leave well enough alone?
“Burke is not the right man!” Lord Cabot whispered furiously as they executed the arriere du coté droit.
Burke? Why on earth was he talking of Burke?
“I only say, Miss Darlington, that I realize I have not been in your good books, but that is no reason to, well what I mean is, we…after all—”
They separated as they made their turns. Penny could not work out what Lord Cabot was talking about, but praise God it did not appear to be anything connected with the race that morning.
They came back together and Lord Cabot went on. “What I say is, to be direct, I would ask for your hand.”
Penny kept her steps moving in the right direction, though her legs felt as if they had filled with ice. Lord Cabot looked searchingly at her. He was in earnest.
Why should he be so? Months ago, her answer would have come from her lips gladly. But now?
“You do not answer,” Lord Cabot said. “I only say we are suited. And…I love you. I really, really do. It was only that…I did not know it. Or realize it. Now I do.”
They turned from one another and Penny advanced to her side. How could he say it? What new torture was this?
Though, how could she resist it?
Could she resist it?
She must resist. As wonderful as the idea seemed at this moment, this earnest man would not always be before her. His ardor would cool, and then she would see the real man. The man she had glimpsed at the Tudor ball.
Though, he loved her. Was that not wonderful? He did not love Kitty after all. He loved her. Would that not be enough for her? Could she not bear the insults and cruelty that would come her way from time to time? Had not many women borne an unjust or bad-tempered husband?
She supposed many had, but she could not. She knew it of herself. He would break her heart and never be able to put the pieces back together again. They would end miserable, because her own temperament could not stand up against his. She was too easily hurt and he was too easy to hurt.
“I know your pride was stung,” Lord Cabot said, leading her around the circle, “unnecessarily so. The fault was all mine, it was stupid to say and not at all what I think.”
He called his words unjust, and of course they had been. But there would only be more unjust words to come if she accepted him. He would always be sorry, but he would not be different. How could she lay her heart in his hands, always wondering when it was to be crushed?
If only he could account for the things he said in some manner that would explain them. Why could he not point to the circumstance being strange or unusual and not a part of his temperament? That somehow, it was not him. That it had been some kind of aberration!
He could not, though. He regretted it, he wished he did not say it, but he could not account for it, nor swear he would not do so again.
As they came to the final sequence of the dance, Penny said, “I thank you for the offer, but I must decline.”
She made the final curtsy and hurried to find her aunt.
*
Henry sat in the early dawn light staring at the cold fireplace. That was that, he supposed. The evening had not gone as planned, nothing had gone as planned. He had been intent on securing Miss Darlington for supper. He’d felt that would give him a good amount of time to lead up to his question. Then he’d been mobbed in the front hall and by the time he got into the ballroom all that was left him was the damned minuet.
He’d sought out Dalton and asked him to step aside, claim a headache or some such, so that he might take Miss Darlington’s supper. His friend had only narrowed his eyes and said, �
�Not on your life.”
How was one meant to get a proposal out during a minuet? Still, he’d tried. It had been badly done, he was sure of it.
The lady had declined.
He very much wished he could blame the nature of his delivery on her refusal, but he suspected not. She was determined to marry Burke.
How on God’s earth had he ruined his chance for happiness with one bad-tempered outburst?
The sound of carriage wheels crunching the gravel below reached him. He lazily got up to see who could be arriving at that early hour, suspecting it was some drunken lord driving a phaeton who could not remember where his host’s house was. Possibly, Yarrowdale—the fellow was renowned for getting lost and Henry knew him to be staying a mile down the road.
He pulled the curtain aside and peered down.
It was one of Mendbridge’s carriages. And another promptly followed it.
Henry watched in consternation as Miss Darlington, Miss Dell and Mrs. Wellburton were helped into the first. Luggage and ladies’ maids were got into the second. Two burly and well-armed coachmen and four footmen completed the entourage.
She was leaving! To where? Why? Nobody had said a thing about it. Did she know she was leaving when he’d spoken to her at the ball? Was she leaving on his account?
Perhaps Burke had requested it, sensing in Henry some competition.
Perhaps they went away in preparation for the banns to be read.
But surely, Mendbridge might have said something about it.
Was the departure what he and his daughter had spoken of in the drawing room the evening before? The thing that had been settled between them. Henry had casually asked what was settled and Mendbridge nearly took his head off.
Perhaps Mendbridge, himself, understood Henry’s aim and wished to get his daughter away from the scene. The man preferred Burke.
No, he could not pretend to himself that Miss Darlington went against her will. She was a stalwart sort of girl and would not be meekly sent away if she did not wish it. Especially not sent away from the races.
