Major Lord David

by Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  She had said she’d been compelled to learn piano, but clearly she had also learned to love it, for her performance sparkled. No one among the company even dared cough while she played, and once she finished, the clapping was heartfelt rather than perfunctory. As Billie smiled, Charis Athington looked stony. Billie was prevailed upon to continue with an encore, a charming and much too brief sample of Gluck that David had never before heard for solo piano. He wondered if Billie might even have transcribed the number herself.

  “How did you know?” Hayden asked, as Billie met with renewed applause.

  David shrugged. “I simply trust in Miss Billie.”

  Hayden’s gaze measured him. “You are in love with her,” he said simply.

  David let the accusation stand. He’d suspected as much when he’d acted like a smitten schoolboy in the stairwell the other night. Though his thoughts had dwelled most exclusively on Wilhelmina Caswell the past two months, he’d not until that moment considered that he might indeed be in love with his fiancee. After all, he had imagined himself in love half a dozen times; he had never suffered before. The symptoms, though severe, were not yet so debilitating….

  “I am aware though, Myles,” he said softly, “that she must choose me. Not in the idolizing manner of the sprout she once was. But as the young woman she now is. And further, I find I honor and admire the lady too much. Too much to believe that I might truly be her best choice.”

  Myles was silent for some time. “As you are already betrothed,” he said at last, “I would suggest you wed her, then woo her. You might persuade her to the proper choice later. ‘Tis not the time to gamble or to think overmuch about it.”

  David shook his head. “I haven’t your liking for such games”

  “You never did,” Hayden conceded with a shrug. “But they do serve their purpose”

  “Miss Caswell and I have been conducting all in reverse, Myles-putting a betrothal before a courtship, for one. So ludicrously, in fact, that I think the business must end. I mustn’t take advantage. She has worries enough with that family.”

  “Then you must simply adopt the lot of them. I’ve always pictured you with a brood of children, dogs, and in-lawsthough not in that order, of course. For one of your vaunted good nature, such a household might prove suitably trying.”

  David was not inclined to smile. “Her brother Kit is trouble,” he acknowledged, “an indulged sprig who quickly grows tiresome. Whatever the source of his resentments, I now seem to be their object. He needs to have some manners drilled into him. But as for his apparent lack of sense-” He broke off with a heavy sigh.

  “Young Caswell hangs about with Dumont.”

  “Ronald Dumont?” David asked in surprise. “Is Kit gambling heavily, then?”

  “I s’pose `heavily’ depends on his resources. Sir Moreton Caswell has deep pockets. Your young Wilhelmina has a sizeable portion. Did you not know?”

  David abruptly shut his astonished mouth. “I did not”

  “Perhaps you will take my advice then and run off with her tonight.”

  “I thought you counseled delay rather than `rushing about.”’

  Hayden’s smile was broad. “Not once the bet is on the table.”

  This time David did laugh, too distinctively. Though no young lady was then exhibiting her skills, enough of the audience turned reprovingly toward them to alert David to his transgression. For the first time that evening Billie Caswell looked directly at him. Though she glanced only briefly over her shoulder, he was fully aware of her penetrating, amberbrown gaze. Her look, her whole manner, conveyed that she thought him rude. His jaw set. He had been listening so very patiently to everyone besides Billie Caswell, who was the only performer he had cared to hear.

  She had once more presented her back to him. He noted again that she had dressed her hair very prettily that evening, gathered to the back of her head, then let to fall in lustrous ringlets upon her nape and shoulders. He was glad she had not yielded to cropping her hair in the fashionable style. He had the unwelcome, possessive urge to kiss her shoulder-an urge that he would have preferred not to fight. He concentrated very hard on the duo now on view. The girl in pink was too tentatively singing a ballad, to the accompaniment of a sour-faced governess’ mandolin. Outside, what sounded like an increasingly agitated crowd repeatedly shouted, “No Corn Laws!”

  The protestors’ noise was overwhelming the performance inside. David watched more than one distracted head turn in the direction of the street.

  “I wonder they do not call out the Guard,” he whispered to Hayden.

  “They must. I cannot stay in any event, as I-”

  An angry pounding at the house next door interrupted him. The pounding yielded to louder cries against the Corn Laws, then the sharp sound of shattering glass. The performance halted.

  Mrs. Sanders, their dismayed hostess, could not keep her voice level as she gasped out, “Do, pray, keep your seats! ‘Tis for Mr. Harknett next door, who stands for Bexbridge. He’ll vote-” She screamed as one of the casement windows in their salon suddenly smashed into bits. A good-sized brick landed with a thud on the shard-covered carpet between David and Billie Caswell.

  As the rest of the panicked guests shrieked and scrambled across the chairs to the opposite side of the room, Billie whirled to face the disturbance.

  For an amazed second, David observed her slim, steady form. One man in a thousand might have turned in like manner to confront a threat. That a slip of a girl should do so without flinching took his breath.

  In two long strides he’d reached her and swept her up into his arms. She was too startled to protest as he sped with her to the safety of a corner.

  “Fool,” he breathed, as much to himself as to her as he released her. He retained a hold on her shoulders, pulling her tightly against his side. An empty bottle followed the brick through the broken window, to crack against the toppled chairs just ahead of Billie’s former seat.

  The chant from the crowd had gained strength, occasionally rising into a series of cries as the mass of protestors swelled and surged. Billie’s aunt Euphemia, her hands fluttering nervously before her, made her way haltingly from a far corner of the room.

  “Billie!” she said, her voice atremble. But her gaze focused pointedly on David’s close grasp. “Are you quite all right?”

  David dropped his arm to permit Billie to step away from him.

  “Quite all right, Ephie,” Billie said. She looked up then into David’s face. “Why did you do that?”

  “Why? Because your unreasoned impulse, though likely qualifying as brave, might well have killed you!”

  “And your `unreasoned impulse’?”

  He thought her eyes very large and dark. The spots of color in her cheeks only heightened their brilliance.

  “My pleasure, I assure you, Miss Caswell.” As he bowed to her, he felt her gaze upon his lowered head. That she should fault him, that she should remain so distant, grated immeasurably. Had he not saved her?

  The rooms were rather dim, as the draft through the broken window had blown out a good many candles. The yells and huzzaing from the street were constant, and now-in the absence of music and the flimsy barrier of glass-their tenor and import were clear. The riot still threatened. In such anger and confusion, anyone’s house might be targeted. David thought it imperative to move the Sanderses’ guests to the safety of the inner rooms.

  Turning away from Billie, he spoke to Hayden, requesting his aid in removing guests to the hall, a request with which Hayden promptly complied-as though the marquis were used to taking orders from his younger brother.

  David directed two trembling servants to douse the remaining candles in the drawing room, then strode toward one huddled group of guests on the far side of the salon. As he passed in front of the windows, he could see the angry mob lit by street lanterns outside. A section of the neighbor’s front iron fencing had been torn up, to be carried aloft like a trophy.

  As he herded half a
dozen women toward the relative safety of the hallway, he noticed, with a lack of surprise, that his brother had managed, in his inimitable fashion, to coax most of the other anxious guests into a quiet, orderly arrangement. David also noticed, with less satisfaction, that Charis Athington and May Sanders had positioned themselves next to Billie Caswell.

  He did not trust himself to look directly at Billie.

  “What do you anticipate, Major?” Charis asked in a tone more excited than fearful. “Are we to be invaded?”

  “I do not know, Miss Athington. But here we are at least removed from further missiles and might exit front or back, as need be”

  “How glad I am to have you here with me!” And Charis Athington’s hand sought his sleeve. For a second David stared in astonishment at her extremely feminine, and extremely forward, fingers. When he glanced up at Billie, he met an accusing glare. Then she turned her face away, presenting him with only a profile-and an elevated one at that.

  “Oh, Charts! Mama has fainted!” And oblivious to the flirtatious interests of Miss Athington, May Sanders abruptly pulled her friend along with her to attend her swooning parent.

  Though his arm was now free, David noted that Billie’s face remained averted. As Miss Euphemia Caswell stood ready to keep her niece company, David left them and wended his way through the huddled guests. Hayden was leaning nonchalantly against the expensive Chinese paper in the dark hall. It was incongruous to see him thus, with so many nervous, whispering females fluttering about him, the scent of reviving sal volatile pervasive, and so few other gentlemen present. Even Mr. Sanders had not been prevailed upon to attend his own daughter’s recital that evening.

  “Are you armed?” Hayden asked under his breath.

  “No” Something about his brother’s expression prompted David to counter, “Are you?” With Hayden’s answering grin, he exclaimed, “Good lord, Myles-at a ladies’ musicale?”

  Hayden shrugged. “I knew how events progressed. One cannot be too cautious. I’d venture to say the gleam in Miss Athington’s eye should have put any man en garde”

  In other circumstances David would have laughed. But he ignored the reference to Charis Athington and looked instead toward Billie. He could just discern her white-gowned form beside the drawing room doorway. That he should feel the bond with her, a close, unacknowledged connection, was a revelation. He should not be dwelling on her in this instance, only acting.

  “If your carriage is still in back, Myles, I would ask you to see the Misses Caswell home. I feel I must remain here with our hostess until this mob has moved on. But I find it-I find it distracting that I cannot trust her-Miss Billie, that is, not to-” He knew he was babbling and abruptly stopped. He simply did not want Billie Caswell harmed.

  “Let me check the back,” Hayden offered. “With luck we might evacuate most of this lot without ill effect”

  After Hayden left, David reentered the abandoned salon and quickly pulled the drapes shut. From one hidden side of a window recess he discreetly surveyed the throng in the street as it milled about, yelling and cheering. Every so often another shout of “No Corn Laws!” could be discerned amid the noise. A window in a house to the east cracked at another projectile. But to his practiced eye the drift of the crowd was now away from the Sanderses’ town house.

  Hayden met him as he returned to the hall. “My good coachman, Perkins, had the sense to lay to in an alley a block away,” he said, “along with Leigh-Maitland’s carriage and driver.”

  “Then would you consider offering to take Miss Athington and her mama up with you as well?”

  “Gladly. And as Lady Grimstock’s equipage has run off, I shall invite that vigilant lady to accompany us”

  David knew that Hayden would only endure Lady Grimstock’s company in his own interest. No better protection from Charis Athington than coldly correct Lady Grimstock!

  “If Leigh-Maitland takes more of the female contingent with him, we might significantly reduce the party here,” Hayden added. “You will still stay?”

  David nodded. “Mrs. Sanders is overset. Though I hear cries that the Guards approach, I would see them before leaving. As it is, anyone might come through the windows.”

  He watched Myles cross to Billie and escort her and her aunt toward the back of the hall. When Billie briefly glanced David’s way, he attempted a small smile, which he suspected she could not see-or did not choose to.

  The roar from the street was dissipating. David opened the front door to find the Guard now clearing the crowd before them. With that development, he sent the overwrought Mrs. Sanders and her daughter safely upstairs to rest, then dispatched a manservant for a carpenter and glazier. He pressed more servants to locate blankets to hang upon the drapery rods in the drawing room against the chill of the night. He escorted two parties of relieved guests out back, where several constables had arrived to shepherd them home. Upon Mr. Sanders’ return an hour later, David at last walked back alone to his grandmere’s, to find a supper of soup and bread in the kitchen and a scribbled note from Hayden: Miss Billie requests, `When all is calmer-when he is able-would you ask him please to come to me?’

  And David knew she had at last made her decision.

  The week was a miserable one. When Billie recalled what she had heard of the previous season’s pleasures, she wondered what whimsical fate had determined that her own comeout should occur during such a decidedly unsettled spring. In the streets, railing and rioting against the Corn Bill had consumed the previous three days, leading to damaged property, countless injuries, and even several deaths. Throughout the West End a pervasive air of nervous tension never eased. And from all reports, the discussions in Parliament over the proposal were almost as violent as the crowds outside. In light of such tumult, fretting over society’s cancelled engagements had seemed frivolous in the extreme.

  Billie knew that her mood echoed the agitation in town. She had secretly been delighted by Lord David’s appearance at both her birthday evening and the Sanderses’ musicale, but she could not rid herself of a pronounced melancholy. Though for years she had anticipated happiness in achieving her heart’s aim, in obtaining the attentions of Lord David, she instead felt little-as though she had taken advantage, as though she had not been quite sporting. Yes, at the Braughton New Year’s gala, Lord David had maneuvered her to that secluded alcove, but she had wanted to go. And though everything about him had signaled his intention to kiss her, she had made no move to flee. She still considered she had trapped him, and in trapping him, herself.

  Her honor, her belief in fair play, demanded that she release him from all obligation, that she remove any claim her family had upon the house of Braughton and David Trent. The major had not taken her seriously in January-perhaps rightly, since her refusal then had been so tempestuously delivered. With time, she herself had thought her reaction excessive. In any event, their fathers had not abandoned their hopes for a union; they still thought their offspring intended for each other. Billie wished now only to relieve her own sense of guilty oppression; the “getting” of David Trent had not proved as satisfying as she had always imagined. She could not bear the sly smiles and speculative asides of May Sanders and Charis Athington. If the idea of a betrothal were openly denied, Billie thought she might still find some noble, lonely enjoyment in the season.

  Yet he was apparently ignoring her request that he come to see her.

  Billie tried to concentrate on her needlework as she and her aunt awaited callers. Sewing was one of Billie’s least favorite occupations; she knew Ephie heard her frustrated sighs with answering, silent reproof. That afternoon Billie might almost have preferred the arrival of Kit and the necessity to confront yet another of his increasingly rash and troubling starts. A sorry state indeed, she thought-pricking her finger once againthat she should long for another of Kit’s disasters as entertainment.

  They were soon, thankfully, treated to companyin the form of Lord Grenby, whose marked attentions to Billie were becoming more
frequent. Several other young gentlemen, perhaps aware of Major Lord David Trent’s prior claim, tended to hover with sheepish looks and irritating hesitance. The season’s misses, given fears for their safety in the streets that week, had been venturing out infrequently. But Billie and Ephie had paid some calls the previous day, and that afternoon they were rewarded in turn. Yet as the afternoon advanced, and despite the full drawing room, Billie despaired of ever seeing Major Trent again. When Charis Athington arrived, to quiz her yet again regarding the nonexistent betrothal, Billie found it impossible to remain composed.

  “I assure you, Miss Athington,” she snapped as Charis cornered her over the seed cake, “it is all unfounded. A complete hum.”

  “We should not be anticipating the announcement any day, then?” Charis’ dark eyes glittered speculatively.

  “No.

  “Then-pardon me, Miss Caswell-but if there is no real affection in the case and no hope for an attachment, you might inform the rest of us. Perhaps then we might … try our own fortunes?” Though Charis’ tone was light, Billie thought the comment far from playful. And as determined as she had been to end all chatter about an engagement, she was tempted to direct Charis Athington elsewhere.

  “I suspect Major Trent would be most happy to entertain you,” she managed instead, while privately hoping that David would have the good sense to send Charis off about other business.

  Major Trent had the pleasure of encountering the departing Miss Athington just as he himself was announced. Billie watched the two briefly exchanging words, then watched David bend low over Charis’ hand. Billie thought it likely that Charts would find an excuse to delay her departure. Abruptly turning her back upon the two, Billie beamed upon a delighted Lord Grenby. But she was aware of David’s approach just behind her left shoulder-even before he spoke.

  “Grenby,” he acknowledged. “How d’you do?”

  “Lord David.” And Grenby graciously bowed. But he was quick to excuse himself. “I will not intrude upon your time with Miss Caswell.”