Miss Pymbroke's Rules

by Rosemary Stevens

  Plump in the pocket after the sale of Love’s Helping Hand, Lady Iris took Verity and Lady Hyacinth on a rare shopping expedition later that day.

  Lady Hyacinth was in high alt because of her restored credit at Mr. Millweed’s shop. She couldn’t wait to try a new potion made by a lady who called herself Auntie Payne.

  Over Verity’s protests, Lady Iris purchased a length of gold-colored silk for her young friend. “I shan’t hear another word, gel. The shade will be flattering on you, and you need a new evening gown,” Lady Iris proclaimed after concluding arrangements with the dressmaker. Secretly she viewed the stunning creation the modiste had promised as the very thing required to permanently fix Lord Carrisworth’s interest in the girl.

  “But, my lady, Beecham has done wonders working over Louisa’s gowns. I shall do very well with what I have,” Verity persisted while being led out of the shop.

  “That’s all well and good. But you deserve a gown made just for you. Not any more of your sister’s castoffs that have probably had some man’s hands run all over them—and under them,” Lady Iris concluded with a derisive snort.

  “I am not one to correct my elders, Lady Iris, but I must ask you to refrain from speaking of my sister in that manner.” A footman helped the three ladies into their carriage. Seating herself next to Lady Hyacinth in the coach, Verity stiffened her spine.

  In the face of what promised to be an extended discussion, Lady Hyacinth held up her plump hands in a pleading gesture. “Iris, you promised we might go to Gunter’s for an ice. You know I cannot go more than two hours without taking sustenance else I shall have a spasm.” Raising a hand to her brow, she said feebly, “Indeed, I grow weaker every moment.”

  Lady Iris eyed her sister sourly but gave the order to the coachman for Berkeley Square. Gunter’s was the only place in Mayfair where ladies could go unescorted to take tea or enjoy some of the celebrated ices and sorbets said to be prepared from a secret recipe.

  After settling themselves at a table in Gunter’s, they placed their orders for ices. Verity could barely enjoy the treat when it was placed in front of her because, sitting

  across from her, Lady Iris was once again speaking derisively of Louisa.

  “The woman is no better than she should be. I know she’s your sister”—Lady Iris paused to glower at Lady Hyacinth who had rapidly finished her ice and was ordering another—“but one can’t choose one’s relatives, more’s the pity. Louisa is liable to damage your reputation while you try in vain to save hers.”

  Verity’s gaze was on her plate. “You make it sound as if there is no good in Louisa.”

  “I’m certain she excels at some things,” Lady Iris replied, her gruff voice sarcastic. Then her tone softened. “What I’m saying is we all have choices in life, gel. Your sister has made hers, and you cannot allow yourself to suffer needlessly from them. We can only hope Louisa will marry before she puts herself completely beyond the pale.”

  “I can help her, if she will only listen to me,” Verity insisted, but knowing in her mind that what Lady Iris said was the truth. It was her heart that refused to give up on Louisa.

  Lady Iris shook her bewigged head sadly. “Why not concentrate on your own future? You know you are welcome to remain with Hyacinth and me after the Season and continue to lease out your townhouse, but you should have a husband.”

  A vision of the Marquess of Carrisworth’s handsome face materialized in Verity’s mind, and she dropped her spoon on her plate with a clink. Despite her growing attraction to him, he was anything but a suitable candidate for her husband. Besides which, he wouldn’t want a wife. Why then could she not seem to stop thinking of him?

  Oblivious to the turn her young friend’s thoughts had taken, Lady Iris said, “I know you mean well, but one cannot change other people, Verity, no matter how badly one wants to.”

  The waiter arrived at the table with yet another strawberry ice for Lady Hyacinth.

  “Only consider my dolt of a sister,” Lady Iris continued wrathfully. “I’ve warned her time out of number that too many sweets are bad for her health. Ye gods, is that your third, Hyacinth? Give me that plate!”

  Lady Iris reached across the table and grasped the dish of strawberry ice. Lady Hyacinth hung on for dear life. “No! Take your hands off it, Iris!”

  The two ladies gripped the plate, each trying to wrest it from the other’s grasp. Suddenly, with a burst of strength, Lady Hyacinth succeeded in pulling it from Lady Iris. But the force catapulted the contents of the dish up and across the older lady’s shoulder.

  Twisting around in her chair, Lady Hyacinth saw with chagrin that her ice had splashed across the back of another customer’s superbly tailored coat. The offended gentleman rose and turned to face his assailant.

  To her horror, Lady Hyacinth recognized the famous dandy and social leader, Beau Brummell.

  There was sudden, absolute silence in the shop as everyone stared. Feeling as if she had been plunged into the worst of nightmares, Lady Hyacinth gave a little cry and slumped over her place at the table in a swoon.

  Alarmed, Verity spared not a glimpse at Mr. Brummell. Instead, she reached for her napkin and dampened it with water from her glass. She patted the wet cloth about Lady Hyacinth’s temples and the back of her neck. “My lady, please, you must wake up.”

  “She’s probably pretending,” Lady Iris accused. “Get up, Hyacinth, you buffleheaded gudgeon.”

  Meanwhile, waiters came running up offering towels to their powerful guest, but Brummell froze them with a glance. The friend accompanying him, “Poodle” Byng, picked up a napkin and quickly wiped the sticky mess from the Beau’s ruined coat.

  Slowly, Lady Hyacinth came around, moaning and clutching the edge of the table. “My vinaigrette ...” she uttered weakly.

  Verity hastened to retrieve the container from her ladyship’s reticule and waved it under the older lady’s nose.

  “Oh, Hyacinth, you ninny,” Lady Iris said, and was assailed by a fit of laughter so convulsive, the crescent-shaped patch she wore by her mouth loosened and fell into her own ice, causing her to laugh even harder.

  Everyone in Mayfair knew one another so Brummell realized with whom he was dealing. He bowed and said, “Good afternoon, Lady Iris. Lady Hyacinth, I should have been pleased to join you for an ice had your invitation been less imaginative.”

  Lady Hyacinth’s expression cleared and she giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh, my dear Mr. Brummell, you are everything kind. And after I ruined your handsome coat. It does show the strength and width of your shoulders particularly well. How will you ever forgive me?”

  “What a fustian,” Lady Iris mumbled crossly.

  The Beau, completely disarmed by Lady Hyacinth’s flattery, took one of her hands and raised it to his lips. “A beautiful lady must always be forgiven, else she might remove herself from the presence of admiring eyes.” His gaze moved to Verity and he raised an inquiring brow.

  Lady Iris performed the introductions since Lady Hyacinth was busy fluttering her eyelashes at Mr. Brummell. He said, “Ah, yes. Miss Pymbroke, I have heard you are leasing your townhouse to Carrisworth. Rather like the lamb allowing the wolf through the front door, is it not?”

  Poodle, Brummell’s table companion, raised an eyebrow. “I say, that’s not quite fair, is it? The word in the clubs is that Carrisworth has given his mistresses their congé.”

  The Beau turned a haughty look on his friend. “Have you been spending too much time in the company of your dog? Ladies are present. Your conversation is not fit for their ears.”

  Poodle inclined his head. “So terribly sorry, ladies. Forgot myself.”

  Verity’s heart beat hard. The marquess had ended his relationship with the French girls! What could have caused this change of heart? She knew her cheeks were pink, but she managed to meet the Beau’s gaze without flinching. “I am happy to meet you, sir.”

  Brummell’s eyes twinkled. “I hope I may have the honor of a dance at the Tremaine
s’ ball tomorrow night.”

  After receiving a nod from Lady Iris indicating they would be attending, Verity responded, “I should like it above all things.”

  Turning to Lady Hyacinth the Beau said, “While the loss of my coat grieves me excessively, you must not blame yourself. I had quite decided the color will be out of fashion tomorrow.”

  He gave the ladies an elegant bow, picked up his walking stick, and strolled out of Gunter’s with his friend in tow.

  Lady Hyacinth sang the praises of Mr. Brummell the entire way home in the coach. “Such a nice young man, not at all high in the instep. Did you mark the speaking way he looked at me, Iris?”

  “Depend upon it, he’s top over heels in love with you, Hyacinth,” Lady Iris said dryly.

  Lady Hyacinth chose to ignore her sister’s mockery. Patting her red curls she said, “He is very close with the Prince Regent, Iris, and as I’ve tried to explain to you before, our Regent prefers plump, slightly older ladies. It stands to reason Mr. Brummell’s tastes would run parallel to our dear Prinny’s.”

  Verity turned her head to hide a smile.

  “Tarnation!” Lady Iris expostulated, “Of course the Regent would want a larger lady. In bed, a smaller one might be crushed to death under his massive weight. Think of the scandal.”

  Lady Hyacinth drew her shawls around her tightly. “You have always been jealous of me, Iris.”

  “Home at last,” Verity announced trying to divert the sisters’ attention before the situation escalated to one of their famous quarrels.

  “There is Lord Carrisworth,” Lady Hyacinth declared, stepping down from the carriage. Her welcoming smile died on her lips. “Oh dear, his lordship has brought a lady friend home. He seems a bit unsteady on his feet.”

  Verity alighted from the vehicle and halted on the sidewalk. Her gaze flew to where the marquess, who looked like the very devil, was mounting the steps of her townhouse with Roxanna clinging to his arm. The actress threw Verity a smug look over her shoulder, then disappeared inside with Lord Carrisworth, who had obviously drunk enough to make a cat speak.

  Lady Iris cursed under her breath. Then she caught sight of the unmistakably hurt look on Verity’s face. Ah, the darling girl was not indifferent to him. Well, she would simply have to put Verity in the way of understanding it was to be expected that Carrisworth wouldn’t give up his vulgar flirts entirely.

  Verity’s lips compressed. After she’d asked him specifically not to, here he was bringing one of his doxies home—to her house. Detestable man, she thought, feeling a tightening in her throat and a constriction in her chest.

  Holding herself in strict control, she walked up the steps behind Lady Iris and Lady Hyacinth and through the door Bingwood opened. Calmly excusing herself, she climbed the stairs and found her way to her bedchamber, quietly closing the door behind her.

  Then she advanced but a few steps into the room and threw her reticule with unnecessary force onto the bed.

  “Damn the ground you swagger upon, my Lord Carrisworth,” murmured the proper Miss Pymbroke, who had given many a lecture to others on not using profanity.

  * * * *

  “Mrs. Barrington has gone off again, miss.”

  Sitting in the drawing room with Lady Iris and Lady Hyacinth, Verity looked at the maid in surprise. “What? Louisa is to go with us to Lady Graham’s musicale.”

  “Well, she’s left the house and that’s a fact,” Betty advised. “Mr. Bingwood himself opened the door to Sir Ramsey a few minutes ago. And while you know the butler ain’t one for gossip, I was coming down the stairs with Mrs. Barrington’s shawl when he says, ‘You are too late, Betty, madam has left with Sir Ramsey for the opening night at Vauxhall.’”

  “How romantic!” Lady Hyacinth cried. “Why I remember many magical nights at Vauxhall listening to the music, watching the fireworks, and especially strolling down the Lover’s Walk with one of my handsome gallants. Oh, how the gentlemen do misbehave themselves along the darkened walkways!”

  Verity listened with growing concern. Surely it was not wise for Louisa to attend the pleasure gardens alone with Sir Ramsey. “I must go and find her. Betty, run upstairs for my cloak.”

  Lady Hyacinth’s face had taken on a dreamy expression, “I remember one evening in particular when dear Lord Anthony plucked one of the plumes from my headdress and ran it up and down—

  “Just like Cleopatra,” Lady Iris interrupted pettishly. “Verity, we are engaged to the Grahams. Leave Louisa to her fate.”

  “Indeed, my lady, I cannot. I shall take Betty along with me—”

  “Hmph. After she deserted you at that masked ball? Fat lot of protection she would be. Besides, I refuse to let your selfish sister ruin our evening.”

  Lady Hyacinth drew all five feet two inches of herself up straight. She stared at Lady Iris while addressing Verity. “Never mind, dear child, I shall accompany you. I have a mind to see Vauxhall again.”

  Lady Iris threw up her hands in defeat. “A pox on all sisters! Go then, but I’ll not be a party to such foolishness.” So saying, her ladyship retrieved her cane and stomped away.

  The minute Lady Iris left the room, Lady Hyacinth seemed to deflate. “Oh dear. Perhaps it would be better if we had a gentleman to escort us. I’ll send a footman next door and ask the marquess—

  “No!” Verity denied her. “Not him. I shall ask ...” Verity thought fleetingly of Cecil Sedgewick. But he had not called after Lady Lexham’s turtle dinner, and she shuddered remembering the censure in his conversation with her. She had only one other choice. “Lord Davies.”

  * * * *

  Verity hurried along the Grand Walk at Vauxhall desperately searching for her sister. The black gauze mantle, which she wore over a white muslin dress with a bodice of pale blue, flew out behind her.

  By the time Lord Davies had been summoned and had conveyed them to the famous pleasure gardens, she had worked herself up into a frenzy of agitation. Certain Louisa needed her as never before, she rushed headlong to the Grand Cross Walk, which ran through the center of the grounds, unaware of her companions’ distress.

  Lord Davies was heartily sick of the game. “My dear Miss Pymbroke, surely any sister of yours must be above reproach. Why, we are putting Lady Hyacinth’s health at risk by jaunting about in this manner.” Lord Davies congratulated himself on this thoughtful statement. In truth, he was obsessed with a fear his brand-new Hessian boots—which he’d picked up from Hoby’s only that day, being forced to fork over the blunt for a new pair after that contemptible cat had ruined his others—would be scraped during their mad dash.

  “Indeed, dear child,” Lady Hyacinth gasped, trying to catch her breath. “I cannot go on. Why I expect at any moment to turn my ankle running about on this frightful gravel—

  “There she is!” Verity exclaimed triumphantly. Leaving behind an open-mouthed Lady Hyacinth and a grim-faced Lord Davies, she ran ahead to where Louisa and Sir Ramsey were disappearing down the walkway.

  “Oh dear,” moaned Lady Hyacinth to Lord Davies, who had raised his quizzing glass and was trying to discreetly inspect his boots for damage in the dim light. “What are we to do?”

  At that moment Lord Killigrew appeared, his heavy jowls trembling as he walked down the path. “Your servant, Lady Hyacinth,” he said and bowed. “Charming to meet you again so soon after Lady Lexham’s turtle dinner.”

  Something had been rejuvenated in the older man, that something being in his breeches, after his experience with Love’s Helping Hand. He had come to the gardens seeking female company and was not averse to assisting Lord Davies in taking care of Lady Hyacinth in her hour of need.

  That lady quickly apprised the gentleman of their situation. Lord Killigrew appeared all concern. “Pray allow me to escort you to a supper box, Lady Hyacinth. I am persuaded you would be more comfortable with a bite to eat while Lord Davies follows Miss Pymbroke.”

  Since nothing could be more to her ladyship’s liking, Lady Hyacinth accepted
Lord Killigrew’s arm with a smile and the two moved away.

  Lord Davies was left alone to brood in sulky silence. Lounging against a tree, he decided to wait where he was. He would not risk his boots by dragging them through the shrubbery. Eventually, the stupid girl would have to come back this way.

  Meanwhile, Verity looked frantically for her sister. She dared not call out her name and thus reveal her identity. Following the couple who were ahead of her, Verity realized the walkway they were now on was quite narrow and dark. Quickening her steps, she experienced a shiver of fear and bit her lip to keep it from trembling. All at once she stumbled upon Louisa who was returning a passionate kiss from Sir Ramsey.

  “Louisa, thank goodness I have found you!”

  Swiftly, the couple broke apart. Sir Ramsey’s face held an amused expression. Louisa was breathless with rage. Rancor sharpened her voice. “Randy, my love, I wish to speak privately with my sister. Wait for me at our box.”

  Sir Ramsey shrugged his shoulders and bowed, leaving the two women alone.

  In the face of Louisa’s fury, Verity felt a chill run down her spine. Nonetheless, she forced herself to say the words uppermost in her thoughts. “My dear sister, please come home with me. Surely you see Sir Ramsey is not fit company. A gentleman never k-kisses a 1-lady,” she stammered, a sudden vision of Lord Carrisworth kissing her in his carriage forming in her mind, “unless they are betrothed and you have not indicated—”

  “I shall kiss whom I please, where I please!” Louisa screeched. “How dare you follow me here, you interfering, moralizing, silly little fool,” she spat out contemptuously.

  Verity drew in her breath sharply. “Louisa, I thought we loved each other. Could I have been mistaken?”

  “Love?” the widow questioned derisively. “There is no such thing. Only lust.”

  “But, your husband, Philip, you loved him,” Verity whispered, her brown eyes enormous in her face.

  Louisa laughed briefly. “Of course not, though I didn’t know it at the time. I simply wanted him in my bed. But I am no longer a green girl. When I marry, it will be for wealth and position, and I shall seek my pleasures elsewhere. Oh, stop gaping at me like a stuck pig.”