She broke the seal and spread the single sheet. Miss Hunnicutt watched expectantly as Lady Hawthorne scanned the page, her eyebrows descending lower and lower in a frown of increasing ferocity. When at last she reached the bottom of the page, she tossed the missive onto the table and rose with an abruptness that set the tea cups clattering.
"Mildred, pack your bags at once. We must go to London."
"Oh, dear,” fretted Miss Hunnicutt, tugging at her ear. “Do you think I may be losing my hearing? For a moment I thought you said—"
"At once, Mildred!” commanded Lady Hawthorne in a voice that brooked no argument. “I am going Out!"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Fourteen
If it were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well It were done quickly.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Macbeth
Over the next few days, Olivia was alternately torn between dreading the approaching denouement, and wishing it might hurry so that she could do what she had to do and be done with it. Consequently, time seemed to either fly by or stand still, depending on her mood of the moment.
On Sunday, the Hawthorne party attended the morning service at the Chapel Royal, and not even the sight of the Prince Regent in attendance was enough to lift Olivia's flagging spirits. In truth, she found herself much in need of spiritual sustenance, and by a striking coincidence (or perhaps divine inspiration), the sermon text, taken from the gospel of John, might have been selected with Olivia's plight in mind.
’”Greater love hath no man,” intoned the bishop, “than this: that a man lay down his life for his friend.’”
As she listened to the poignant lines, Olivia was obliged to fumble through her reticule in search of a handkerchief with which to blot her moist eyes. The bishop, seeing this response from one of his congregation, was immensely gratified, and was heard to say later that it was the first time he could recall one of his hearers having been moved to tears.
Sir Harry, seated on Olivia's right, also observed her emotional response, and was more than ever convinced that his love had got herself into very deep waters. In view of the scripture which had evoked such a response, he wondered just what sacrifice Olivia was being called upon to make in the name of love. He could only think of one such oblation which Lord Mannerly might desire of a young lady, and accordingly entertained distinctly unchristian thoughts toward the marquess.
Had he been less engaged in this mental exercise, he might have noticed that his younger sister, seated on his other side, was equally dewy-eyed.
* * * *
At last the fateful evening arrived, and at precisely eight o'clock, Mrs. Brandemere's carriage rolled to a stop before the Curzon Street house. The coachman rapped sharply on the door knocker, and a moment later Olivia and Georgina glided across the hall toward the door, Georgina wearing her gray satin domino, Olivia in a white one which Sir Harry could not recall having seen before. He was struck with the thought that she looked somehow bridal, in spite of her pale face and haunted eyes. This melancholy reflection led him to wonder morosely just whose bride she would eventually be.
"Now, remember,” he admonished, following the two young ladies as quickly as his tight slippers would allow, “stay in well-lighted areas, and keep Mrs. Brandemere in sight at all times. I begin to wish I had never given my consent to this outing. Lady Greenaway was quite right when she said they were not at all the thing."
"I promise, you will not regret it,” said Olivia, her voice curiously solemn for such a festive occasion. She followed Georgina to the door, then paused and turned back, drinking in the sight of Sir Harry in his ridiculous garb as if she might never see him again.
"Olivia?” he asked, returning her gaze with a puzzled one of his own. “What is it?"
Olivia shook her head. “Nothing. Just—good night."
Sir Harry stood at the open door and watched until the carriage disappeared into the fog, then swung into action.
"Coombes!” he bellowed, tugging on the bell-pull with such violence that he nearly ripped it from the wall. “Hail me a hackney at once, and tell Higgins to be ready to accompany me in five minutes!"
* * * *
Upon her arrival at Vauxhall, Olivia found the popular pleasure gardens strangely altered since her previous visit. To be sure, the colorful Chinese lanterns were the same, as were the wonders of the Grand Cascade and the succulent, paper-thin slices of ham available in the various supper-boxes lining the Grand Walk; the difference was in the appearance and conduct of the pleasure-seekers. Tonight the Gardens teemed with cloaked and masked figures, and the tree-lined walks rang with loud, ill-bred shrieks of laughter. A squealing shepherdess ran past with a harlequin in hot pursuit, and Olivia began to see why masquerades were frowned upon by the discerning. When a cloaked figure passed by, brushing up against Olivia in a manner that could only be deemed familiar, that affronted young lady recalled Sir Harry's parting advice, and wished that she could follow it.
Mrs. Brandemere was an exacting duenna, only allowing her charges to dance with gentlemen whom she recognized; however, after three or four cups of rack punch, her chaperonage grew noticeably more lax. Disturbing as this might have been under normal circumstances, tonight Olivia could only be grateful, as it would make it easier for her to keep her midnight assignation. However, her plans changed unexpectedly when a servant delivered a note. It was sealed with red wax, although it bore no markings which might have identified its sender. Separating herself from her chaperone, Olivia broke the seal and spread open the sheet. The message thereon was brief and to the point:
Miss D., There has been a change in plans. Meet me at the end of the Grand Walk at midnight. Yrs., etc., M.
Olivia read these lines with dismay, for the new point of rendezvous was considerably removed from the old, and it would take longer to reach from the supper-box where they were now situated. Glancing at her companions, Olivia found Mrs. Brandemere helping herself to yet another plate of ham, while Miss Brandemere flirted with a tall figure in a scarlet domino. Georgina had been solicited to stroll, and Olivia could see her gray-clad form taking a turn before the Rotunda on the arm of her escort, wisely remaining within view of her chaperone. Quickly, before her courage failed her, Olivia stole out of the supper-box and was soon swallowed up by the crowd milling about the Grand Walk.
Although the central part of the Gardens was overrun with masked revelers, the crowd thinned considerably once Olivia passed the pavilion. To be sure, there were still people about, but most of these seemed to be couples intent upon dalliance or, more disturbing, bucks on the prowl for unwary maidens. Several times Olivia had the distinct impression that she was being followed, but when she turned to look behind her, she saw nothing but anonymous maskers engrossed in their own pleasures, seemingly oblivious to her presence.
At last she reached her destination. Here the lights were fewer and farther between, and the trees lining the walk cast eerie shadows across her path. A Grecian temple had been erected at the end of the walk, and before this structure a tall entity in a black domino awaited. Olivia paused, waiting for Mannerly to approach her, but he showed no sign of doing so. At last, hesitantly, she closed the distance between them.
"My lord?” she asked in a voice that shook slightly.
The man in the black domino turned toward her, and that part of his face which was not hidden by a black half-mask was completely unfamiliar. “Why, no, sweeting, but I'd like to be!"
And before Olivia could protest, she found herself caught up in a smothering embrace.
"Unhand me at once, sir!” she demanded with perhaps more bravado than she felt. “I am looking for someone—"
"You've found me!” declared her gallant, punctuating this statement by pressing hot, moist lips to hers.
Olivia, stamping ineffectually at his foot with the heel of her fragile kid slipper, was unaware of the newcomer who tapped her captor on the shoulder. Not until she found herself abruptly released did she become aware of
this second gentleman, also clad in a black domino, who seized the would-be Lothario by the throat, swung him around, and delivered a bruising left to the stranger's jaw.
Olivia did not linger long enough to thank her rescuer, but ran back up the Grand Walk in the direction she had come, all thoughts of her meeting with Lord Mannerly driven from her mind by fear and overwrought nerves. Upon reaching a safe distance, she looked back, wondering if perhaps it had been Lord Mannerly who had come to her rescue—how ironic that would have been!—but one glance informed her that this gentleman was not tall enough to be the marquess. Then, upon seeing him take two or three resolute steps in her direction, she picked up her skirts and fled.
* * * *
Sir Harry, having neatly disposed of Olivia's unwanted suitor, pushed back the man's hood and was disappointed to discover that the gentleman lying unconscious on the ground was not, in fact, Lord Mannerly. He should have guessed, he thought bitterly. Had it been Mannerly, would Olivia have struggled in his embrace? Suddenly he could tolerate the uncertainty no longer; he had to hear from her own lips whether or not she loved the marquess. Seeing her pause, he started in her direction, but she only hastened her retreat, and although he followed, he quickly lost sight of her in the crowd.
If Sir Harry had thought life could hold no more painful sight than that of his own Livvy fleeing from him in terror, he was soon to discover his mistake. As he approached the pavilion, the gleam of white satin caught his eye, and the scene that unfolded before him froze him in his tracks. Near the entrance to the pavilion waited a lady in white, the hood of her domino pulled forward so as to conceal her face. A tall man in a black domino approached her, raising her hand to his lips in salutation. Then, the lady nodding her assent, he drew her hand through his arm and the pair made their way toward the gates at the entrance to the garden.
Olivia's apparent submissiveness moved Sir Harry in a way that her earlier resistance had not. When he had seen her struggling in the arms of a stranger, he had been hot with fury; now he felt chilled to the very core of his being. Well, he was not going to give her up without a fight! Resolutely he pushed his way through the crowd, unmindful of the glaring looks he received from gentlemen whom he had jostled or ladies upon whose hems he had trodden.
He reached the garden entrance just in time to see a nondescript hired carriage go by at a brisk pace. Lord Mannerly's carriage, he knew, had his crest emblazoned on the panel, but whatever else Mannerly might be, he was not fool enough to attempt an elopement in a vehicle so easily recognized. Hailing a passing hackney, Sir Harry startled the driver by climbing up beside him on the box and seizing the reins from his slackened grasp.
Sir Harry was by no means a contemptible whip, and indeed might have stood some chance of overtaking his quarry, had he not been cut off by an antiquated landaulet filled with masked parvenus, all in high spirits either from the gardens’ famed rack punch or from the satisfaction of a night spent among the Quality. They showed no inclination to hurry home from their night of revelry, but progressed up the Vauxhall Bridge Road at a leisurely pace which inspired Sir Harry to air a vocabulary which had not been fully exercised since his Oxford days.
* * * *
Olivia, meanwhile, reached the pavilion just in time to see the cloaked and masked Lord Mannerly—for surely it could be no one else—offer his arm to a lady in a white domino. No, it could not be! She could not allow Lord Mannerly to take the wrong woman, for not only would an innocent female be ruined, but the marquess would believe that she herself had intentionally arranged the switch, and poor Harry would be lost.
Unmindful of the leering glances of the masked men, she hurried toward the pavilion, but by the time she reached it, the marquess had absconded with his prey. As she stood wondering what to do next, a slight breeze stirred the shrubbery and fluttered the folds of a length of gray satin concealed therein. With a growing sense of unease, Olivia drew the length of fabric out of the greenery, and found herself holding Georgina's gray domino. Her mind recoiled in horror from the implication: Lord Mannerly had taken Georgina!
Fighting the panic which threatened to overtake her, Olivia forced herself to think rationally. She must return to Curzon Street and tell Harry, who would no doubt feel compelled to challenge Lord Mannerly to a duel. Mannerly would probably shoot him, or run him through with a sword, and all her efforts to rescue him would have led instead to his destruction.
She shook her head to clear away the unwelcome images. This was not rational thinking at all! No, what she must do was return to Mrs. Brandemere and ask to be taken home. With a firm goal to work toward, she felt much calmer, and soon located the chaperone and her daughter inside the pavilion, where Miss Brandemere was dancing with an Elizabethan courtier while her mama beamed fondly at her daughter's newest prospect.
"Mrs. Brandemere—” Olivia began.
"Just look at them, Miss Darby,” said the chaperone with a contented sigh. “Don't they make a handsome pair?"
"Handsome, indeed,” agreed Olivia diplomatically. “Mrs. Brandemere, I hate to cut short your evening, but may I impose upon your hospitality and beg you to take me home?"
Instantly, Mrs. Brandemere was all concern. “Are you unwell, my dear? I told Lady Hawthorne it would not do. You must take better care of yourself, or—"
"It is not for myself that I ask, but for Miss Hawthorne,” interrupted Olivia, cutting short the lecture she knew was about to begin. “Georgina has suddenly taken ill."
"Of course, we must take her home. But—where is she?"
"I—That is, Lord Mannerly very generously agreed to escort her,” Olivia improvised rapidly, hoping that, if Georgina were recognized, her explanation might scotch any scandal.
Throughout the drive home, Olivia offered deliberately vague replies to Mrs. Brandemere's inquiries as to the nature and seriousness of Miss Hawthorne's malady. Thankfully, the interrogation did not last long, as Mrs. Brandemere was soon distracted by the plodding pace of a carriage some distance ahead, as well as shocked by the colorful outpourings of a young man driving a hackney carriage.
"Depend upon it, some young pot-valiant who fancies himself a coachman,” remarked the offended chaperone in tones of deepest disapproval. “He is indeed fortunate the carriage is blocking his way, or he would have no doubt killed himself by now."
Olivia returned no comment to this observation, too distressed over the fates of her future husband and his sister to be concerned with that of a stranger. At last the carriage set her down in Curzon Street, and she burst through the front door and into the drawing room, expecting to see Sir Harry there in his Lady Hawthorne garb. But the room was empty. Finding the dining room similarly unoccupied, she scurried up the stairs and searched the upstairs rooms, but to no avail: Harry was clearly not at home. Choking back a groan of frustration, she returned to the drawing room and gave the bell pull a tug.
"Coombes,” she said when the butler appeared, “where is Lady Hawthorne?"
"I cannot say, miss,” replied the butler. “She summoned a hackney immediately after you left, and has not returned."
"And did he—she—say where she was going?"
"No, miss."
"Very well, Coombes,” she said with a heavy sigh. “That will be all."
Alone once more, there was nothing Olivia could do but pace the floor and await Sir Harry's return. Perhaps, she thought, he had gone to his club. She knew he was a member of White's, but she could hardly storm that male bastion and demand an audience. No, she could only wait and hope that he would not stay out all night. Back and forth she paced, with the white domino she had forgotten to take off billowing out behind her like a ship in full sail. At last tiring of this unproductive activity, she had just collapsed into a chair when a noise at the front of the house, followed by the sound of voices, startled her from her reverie. She leaped to her feet just as a familiar figure in powdered wig and plumed headdress entered the room, followed by a mousy female of indeterminate age whom Olivia had
never seen before. Olivia, however, took no notice of this second arrival, for all her attention was focused on the first.
"Harry! Thank God you've come!” she cried, and without further ado flung her arms about the dowager's neck.
But no welcoming arms enfolded her. Instead, the object of her ardor stiffened in her embrace, and an unfamiliar voice addressed her in stentorian tones.
"Miss Darby, I presume?"
"Oh!” Olivia leaped back, her face flaming. “I beg your pardon. You—you must be Lady Hawthorne."
"Must I be? It seems to me there are quite enough of us already,” observed the dowager dryly.
"It was very good of you to come, my lady—"
"Nonsense! Now, where is my good-for-nothing grandson? I vow, I hope Georgina has more sense than her brother!"
"I don't know where Harry has gone, and Georgina—” Olivia took a deep breath. “—Georgina has run off with the marquess of Mannerly."
"Good heavens!” uttered Lady Hawthorne. “Have they gone to Gretna Green?"
"Believe me, ma'am, a Gretna marriage would be a blessing.” Olivia recounted the sordid story of the marquess's proposed exchange, including details she had not seen fit to put down on paper. “I can only assume that Georgina somehow discovered his plans, and foolishly substituted herself."
"It would appear that insanity runs in the family—on their mother's side, no doubt. Tell me, Miss Darby, did Mannerly reveal where he intended to take you?"
"No, ma'am. He only said that he would return me after we—afterwards—before I was missed."
"Then he cannot have taken her far. Miss Darby, you and I must first track down Georgina—we shall deal with Harry later. Mildred, you will stay here in case the prodigals return!"
Olivia paused only long enough to exchange her domino for a traveling cloak, then followed Lady Hawthorne to the carriage, which was still laden with the dowager's and her companion's bags. Lady Hawthorne gave instructions to the coachman, then joined Olivia within.
Miss Darby's Duenna Page 13
