by M C Beaton
Mrs. Waverley dropped her eyes. “I have never had a hero in my life before,” she said.
The colonel’s chest swelled. “You have an old but trusty soldier in your life now, ma’am.”
***
Colonel Bridie awoke the next morning with an unaccustomed feeling of guilt. He had promised to take Caroline driving and, in the heat of all last night’s excitement, he had forgotten their engagement. He decided to call on Caroline in the morning and tell her of his adventures, and then he would send a note of apology to Mrs. Waverley.
When Betty told her the colonel was belowstairs, Caroline groaned in dismay. She had been looking forward to a quiet morning. There was anything but lovelight shining in her eyes when he entered the room.
Now the colonel still felt no end of a hero and that cold, impatient look in Caroline’s eyes was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over his head.
“I am delighted to see you at all times,” said Caroline, “but I am not at my best so early in the morning.”
“It is ten o’clock,” said the colonel crossly. “You are still in your undress. I know we are to be married, but it must be very shocking for your young maid to see her mistress receiving a gentleman caller clad only in her nightgown.”
Caroline sighed. “I have the headache, and slept badly.”
All in that moment, the colonel decided to keep his engagement with Mrs. Waverley. He was a hero and craved a hero’s adulation. Still, Caroline must hear of his bravery. He told her of his adventures, but instead of crying out at his bravery and demanding reassurances that he had not been hurt, she turned a trifle pale and said, “Is Mrs. Waverley aware that you are engaged to me?”
“I told her I was engaged but not to whom,” said the colonel testily. “Does it matter? I told her I would take her driving this afternoon, but, of course, I shall not go, for we have an arrangement to go driving ourselves.”
“I would rather you did not discuss me with, or mention my name to, Mrs. Waverley,” said Caroline. “Go, by all means. I would have thought a lady of her views would have given you a disgust of her.”
“Oh, like all those bluestockings, she has some silly ideas,” said the colonel, “but it comes from having been so much alone and without a man to guide her.”
Caroline did not feel the slightest pang of jealousy. To her, Mrs. Waverley was old. Fifty or so was old in a woman. All she thought was that Mrs. Waverley might put a few ideas of women’s liberty into the colonel’s rigid mind. He need never know her masquerade as Lady Harriet. She would call a few more times to see Frederica and then tell Lord Harry that her role as his sister was finished.
“You must keep your appointment with Mrs. Waverley,” she said gently. “I am really not feeling very well and I think I shall return to bed.”
“It’s this filthy slum you live in,” said the colonel, dismissing the whole of Covent Garden with one wave of his hand. “Some good country air would set you up no end. Nothing but peace and quiet. No theaters, no noisy carriages and coaches and street hawkers. After we are married, you will be a changed woman.” Caroline repressed a shudder.
The colonel stood up to take his leave. He kissed her hand, and then, for the first time ever, he drew her into his arms and kissed her lips. It was a hard, clumsy kiss. He smelled unpleasantly of all he had drunk the night before mixed with all the smells of a body which had not been bathed for the past few months. The colonel was one of the many who agreed with one of the royal dukes that it was “sweat, dammit, sweat,” that kept a man clean.
Caroline was now very pale indeed. His conscience eased, for he was now sure she was really ill, the colonel rang for the maid and told her to put her mistress to bed.
***
Frederica wished she had not arranged to meet Lord Harry. What if he should kiss her again? She still remembered that first kiss and it made her feel hot and uncomfortable and, somehow, weak and helpless. She had thought that men dominated women by bullying and by holding control of the finances, and by constraining them to breed as regularly as rabbits, but now she was aware that sex could undermine the strongest woman. Passion was a cheat, that Frederica had learned from Mrs. Waverley, and despite the little she had been in society, she had seen evidence to prove that what Mrs. Waverley had said was true. A pretty debutante Frederica knew, who had been blushing and sighing every time her lover even looked at her, was a cowed and dowdy wreck a bare five months after her marriage. It was well known that men did not look for love in marriage but found it fleetingly elsewhere, discarding the mistresses they were tired of with little worry or compassion.
She had almost decided not to meet Lord Harry when promptly at two o’clock Colonel Bridie arrived to take Mrs. Waverley driving, a Mrs. Waverley beribboned and bowed and scented and twittering in the silly way she had often claimed to despise in other women.
So with the coast clear, Frederica found her treacherous mind telling her that it was only civil to make her way into the garden next door and exchange a few polite words with Lord Harry.
She went upstairs to change her gown and met Felicity on the stairs. “Where are you going?” asked Frederica.
“Too good an opportunity to miss,” said Felicity. “I am going out to buy a book.”
The servants had strict instructions that the girls were not to be allowed out of the house, but they took turns at escaping through the library window at the back, over the wall into the garden next door, and so out to freedom. Mrs. Waverley had recently begun to allow them a little pin money but no opportunity to spend it, and so both had quite a fair sum saved up.
“It’s my turn to go out,” said Frederica, who had no intention of telling Felicity that she was going to meet Lord Harry.
“No, it’s not,” said Felicity crossly. “You went last time. You know you did!”
“Look, let me go this time,” begged Frederica. “Tell me what book it is you want and I shall buy it for you.”
“No! I am sick of being kept in here.”
“Listen!” said Frederica urgently. “Sounds from next door.”
“Perhaps those thieves have come back,” said Felicity. She led the way into the drawing room. Frederica followed and together they looked out of the window. Servants were arriving next door, loading crates and boxes into the house.
“That Lord Harry has decided to take up residence on this day of all days,” said Felicity furiously. “There is no escape for either of us. Hey, ho! What shall we do? Would you like a game of backgammon?”
Frederica thought quickly. She would have to pick a quarrel with Felicity and in that way she would be able to escape unnoticed.
“No, I don’t want to play backgammon. You weary me, Felicity. You are so babyish.”
“I? Babyish? Let me tell you, Frederica, dear, that I have more sense in my little finger than you have in your whole head!” Felicity tossed her mane of chestnut hair. “I am all of eighteen years now.”
“Baby! Baby!” jeered Frederica.
“I don’t know what has come over you. I thought we had become friends.” Her head held high, Felicity made a stately exit from the room.
All in that moment, Frederica hated Lord Harry. What Felicity had said was true. Their days of rivalry and fighting were over, and since the elopement of Fanny, they had become closer, although not close enough to be confidantes, which was why Frederica enjoyed the company of “Lady Harriet.” But because of the frivolous Lord Harry, she had picked a quarrel with Felicity.
She went up to her room, determined now that she would not go. She tried to read. But at ten to three, she suddenly threw down her book, changed into a light gown of blue muslin, scampered down to the library, and dropped down from the window into the weedy garden below. She climbed up onto a box and pulled herself up on top of the wall, then slid down a plank on the other side, which the girls had placed there to help them in their escapes.
The garden she found herself in was a tangled mass of undergrowth and weeds. Out of this d
ark green mess, some brave roses held their faces up to the sun. The air was warm and drowsy. Not a puff of wind disturbed the hot stillness of the walled garden.
She could hear the busy sounds and voices of Lord Harry’s servants and felt self-conscious standing there. She turned to leave, for surely any minute now the door would open and some housekeeper or butler would demand to know what she wanted.
“Servant, ma’am.”
Frederica wheeled about. Lord Harry Danger stood before her. He seemed to have sprung up from nowhere. He was wearing only a thin cambric shirt and breeches and top boots. His fair hair gleamed guinea gold in the sunlight.
“You must forgive my undress,” he said when she did not say anything. “I have been helping to arrange things in my new home. You look so uneasy. Wait! I shall go indoors and put on my coat and cravat and we shall pretend it is a formal call.”
“No, don’t go,” said Frederica hurriedly. “I should not have come. I have very little time. Mrs. Waverley went out driving with Colonel Bridie at two and will be back soon.”
“And what is Mrs. Waverley doing driving with the colonel? Mr. Bridie is engaged to a friend of mine.”
“The colonel rescued us from a thief last night. He shot him dead. It will no doubt be in the newspapers tomorrow.”
“You lead an adventurous life. What happened, exactly?”
Frederica told him hurriedly, moving restlessly from foot to foot and glancing up at the windows of her own home as she did so, as if expecting to see Mrs. Waverley’s angry face at one of the windows.
When she had finished, he said, “You see, thwarted thieves talk to other thieves. It is possible that most of the criminal world will now know that you all wear a great too many jewels and do not have a single manservant to protect you.”
“Oh, dear,” Frederica forgot her fear of discovery in her dismay. “I must speak to Mrs. Waverley.”
“Has my sister called?” he asked.
“No. Can you give me her direction? I would like to send her a letter.”
“She will no doubt call on you tomorrow,” said Lord Harry. He privately thought he had better call on Caroline and tell her to drop the masquerade. With Colonel Bridie on the scene, her true identity would soon be revealed. He wished he had not enlisted her help in the first place. It was a stupid thing to do. Frederica would be furious.
“In any case,” said Frederica, not looking at him, “I am come to thank you again and to apologize for the churlishness of Mrs. Waverley.”
“And that is the only reason?”
“What other reason could there be?”
“I was hoping that you might have decided to marry me.”
“Of course not. I must go.” Frederica walked toward the plank and began to shin up it. Two strong hands encircled her tiny waist and lifted her easily back down to the ground.
“I am sure you can spare a few moments longer,” he said. “What have you got against marriage to me?”
“You had no right to touch me!” raged Frederica. “And I have no intention of being the slave of any man.”
“Oh, Miss Frederica, it is I who am your slave.”
He smiled down at her tenderly. His frilled shirt was open at the neck, revealing the strong column of his throat.
“In any case,” said Frederica in a stifled voice, “you cannot want to marry me. I am not Mrs. Waverley’s daughter. I do not know who my parents were.”
“I know,” he said. “It makes no difference, my sweeting.”
“I am not going to marry anyone,” said Frederica almost tearfully. “Now, I must go.”
He put a hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. “How very blue your eyes are,” he said softly. “Like delphiniums.” He bent his face toward her own. She looked up at him in a dazed way. His mouth moved ever closer and her lips began to tremble. The sun was hot on her head and the noises from the house had ceased, leaving them enclosed in a heavy silence charged with emotion. His lips descended gently on her own.
This time Frederica did not struggle. He put his arms around her. His long fingers caressed her neck under the heavy tresses of hair, which she wore loose. She felt as if her body was melting into his. A drugged, lethargic sweetness stole over her and his lips continued their gentle seductive caress.
At last he raised his head and said huskily, “Now you will have to marry me.”
Rigid with shock, Frederica stared up at him, all she had ever read and studied fleeing from her brain, to be replaced by one scared mass of feminine ignorance. “What have you done to me?” she cried.
“Merely kissed you, my chuck.”
Common sense came back, but Frederica was now frightened of the power he had over her wanton body. “Oh, that!” She shrugged. “I am used to being kissed, my lord.”
His green eyes mocked her. “Liar,” he said. “Nobody ever kissed you before.”
“How can you tell? Oh, I know. It is experience. In the way a gourmand can tell which herbs have been used in the cooking. So you have kissed so many ladies, you can tell one flavor from t’other. This one has had two lovers, this one five. Pah!”
“Frederica, you are going to marry me, so why pretend to be angry with me?”
“Lord Harry, what you have in mind is an amusing seduction.”
“Miss Frederica, I do not amuse myself with virgins.”
“I am definitely going now,” said Frederica, her color high. “I admit I was at fault this time. I should not have let you kiss me. Please let me leave.”
He caught her round the waist and hoisted her up so that she was able to grasp the top of the wall. “Off with you then,” he called. “But you shall see me again, very soon.”
When she got back indoors, Frederica sought out Felicity and apologized for her earlier behavior, but Felicity was still cross. “I don’t trust you anymore,” she said. “Mrs. Waverley is returned, and that Lady Harriet is in the drawing room, looking for you.”
Caroline had waited until she was sure the colonel had returned Mrs. Waverley home and left before calling herself. Mrs. Waverley regaled her with a long tale of the colonel’s bravery and then gave her gracious permission to allow Frederica to go out walking.
Frederica and Caroline walked in silence to Hyde Park. Caroline was deciding she must tell Frederica that she was going off to the country. With the colonel calling on Mrs. Waverley, the masquerade must stop. But she must do her best to persuade Frederica to look favorably on Lord Harry.
“Have you seen my brother?” she asked, breaking the silence at last. “I know that he has taken up residence next door to you.”
“Yes, I saw him recently.” Frederica colored up. “Lady Harriet, are your brother’s intentions honorable?”
Caroline was about to cry out, yes, but then she wondered if Lord Harry had anything more in mind than a seduction. He had been very kind to her, but she did not really know him. Surely a man whose intentions were honorable would call on Mrs. Waverley, despite that woman’s well-known aversion to men. To hire an actress to masquerade as his sister was the sort of thing a philanderer would do. Caroline’s conscience smote her. She owed Lord Harry her life, but that debt must surely not allow her to connive at the seduction of an innocent girl.
“I know my brother to be anxious to win your approval,” she said cautiously. “You must insist, all the same, Miss Frederica, that he calls on Mrs. Waverley and asks her permission to pay his addresses. He has not done anything, I trust, to show that his intentions might be dishonorable?”
“I arranged to meet him in the garden of his house this afternoon,” said Frederica. “I know I should not have done it, but Mrs. Waverley did not even thank him for rescuing us from thieves, and yet she made a great fuss of Colonel Bridie. Do you know Colonel Bridie? He is one of those bluff, insensitive, bullying sorts of men.”
“Yes, I know him,” said Caroline quietly.
“Oh, I should not be so rude, then. In any case, I met Lord Harry. He—he kissed me. I should not
have let him.”
“No, you should not,” agreed Caroline severely. Scandalous as her own past was, she still knew the ways of society. A gentleman did not kiss a lady until after they were engaged, and often, not even until the marriage. Her heart sank. Lord Harry was behaving in a disgraceful way. She could not be a party to it. She wished heartily to be shot of the lot of them: Frederica, Lord Harry, and, yes, Colonel Bridie. She suddenly realized exactly what life would be like once she was married to the colonel, and a large tear rolled down her cheek.
“I have distressed you,” exclaimed Frederica. “but you are so unhappy. It cannot be because of your brother!”
Her blue eyes were warm and sympathetic, and she put an arm about Caroline’s waist and guided her to a park bench. “Sit down, dear Lady Harriet, and tell me what ails you.”
Caroline was so miserable, she could not bear the weight of her secret any longer. Lord Harry would probably never forgive her, but she could not be a party to the seduction of an innocent.
“I am not Lady Harriet,” she said, “and I am not Lord Harry’s sister.”
Frederica looked shocked. “Then who are you?”
“I am Caroline James, a former actress, and I am now engaged to a country gentleman.”
“But why did you pretend to be Lady Harriet?”
“Some years ago, I contracted consumption. Lord Harry saved my life. He sent me to Switzerland and paid for my keep until I recovered. He asked me if I could pretend to be his sister and befriend you, and persuade you that he shared your views. After what you have just told me, I fear his intentions. I cannot help him any longer, although I owe him my life.”
“So that is how you come to know you cannot have babies?” said Frederica, her mind adding up the sum of actress plus lovers equals gynecological knowledge.
“Meaning all actresses are harlots? No, that is not the case. I did not have an affair with Lord Harry, that I promise you. But I am about to enter into marriage with a man I do not love, nor do I respect him. I owe it to my sex to make sure that another lady is not going to be made unhappy. And so I had to tell you the truth.” Something stopped Caroline from telling Frederica that she was engaged to Colonel Bridie.
