by M. C. Beaton
“Then use your voice. Shout, for heaven’s sake.”
So Lord Harry went back downstairs to find James and take him to the dining room, collaring the elderly Biddle on the way and demanding food.
Captain James was depressed to find that he would not be enjoying the luxury of the Chadburys’ well-run town house but would be staying with the Tremaynes.
“We’ll be eating out a lot,” said Lord Harry reassuringly as Captain James wrestled with a piece of cold roast beef.
Isabella’s beautiful face rose up in Lord Harry’s mind. He stared into space, remembering that kiss. But the least he could do was to give her her freedom. She did not want him; she did not want anyone. Let her go.
In the jogging carriage the next morning, Captain James took out the last letter he had received from Lucy and read it again. Somehow, he thought, not for the first time, he could never remember the laughing, hoydenish Lucy when he read her letters. They were intelligent and well informed and somehow a little intimidating. He would have expected little Lucy to write a more impulsive letter, perhaps, he realized he had been hoping, a more affectionate letter. Not that, he persuaded himself, he was in any danger of falling in love with a green girl barely out of the schoolroom.
He and Lord Harry had a carriage to themselves, one in a long line of carriages. Everyone was going to London from Tregar Castle, every servant, every horse in the stables, every hawk and hound and even the three old dogs. The earl had even had a special carriage made for his small boat. When they passed through the first town, the populace turned out to cheer them, convinced it must be a royal party and the elderly retainers become so excited by all the attention that they became even drunker and began to sing snatches of disgraceful songs.
“What’s our first social engagement in London?” asked Captain James.
“Almack’s Assembly Rooms—subscription ball,” replied Lord Harry. “Mama has managed to get us vouchers.”
“Do you think your sister is enjoying herself in London?”
“Bound to,” said Lord Harry easily. “She’s an heiress now. She’ll have no end of partners.”
“Yes … yes of course she will,” said the captain slowly. “I had forgot that.”
Chapter 7
THERE WAS little chance of either Lord Harry or Captain James calling on the Chadburys when they first arrived in London. Space had to be found to kennel the earl’s hawks and hounds and store his boat. Asked tetchily by his son where he intended to hunt or sail, his father replied pettishly that he was sure he could hawk in Hyde Park and sail his boat on the Serpentine, and he could surely find a good day’s sport with the Berkeley Hunt, which had been known to pursue the fox as far as the walls of Kensington Palace. Then there was the chaos of the town house to put in order and reluctant servants to dragoon into some sort of service.
“Well, that’s that,” said Lord Harry at last. “I thought we would never settle down.”
“So do we call on the Chadburys?” asked Captain James eagerly.
“No hurry,” said Lord Harry laconically. “Let’s go to Tats first. I have a mind to buy another horse.”
So they joined the motley group of aristocrats and small ferrety horse traders at the famous Tattersail’s.
“Wait a bit,” exclaimed Lord Harry as a horse was being paraded around the ring. “Now where have I seen that fellow before?”
“What? Where?” demanded the captain, looking about.
“That horse. That chestnut mare.”
“Bit showy,” commented the captain. “You could do better than that.”
“I don’t want to buy the cursed animal. I … I have it! That ruffian who attacked Isabella. I swear that was his mount.”
He waited until the trading was over and then approached the auctioneer. “That big showy chestnut,” said Lord Harry. “Where did he come from?”
“Exeter squire, name of Biggins. That’s the gentleman over there, my lord.”
The squire was a small choleric man wearing an old-fashioned wig under an equally old-fashioned tricorne.
To Lord Harry’s questions, he said he had bought the horse the previous June from Lord Rupert Fitzjohn.
“June,” said Lord Harry meditatively, after thanking the squire. “That was when Isabella was attacked. Now to find out if she knows this Fitzjohn fellow.”
The captain brightened. “You mean we are going to call. What about your horse?”
“Another day will do.”
But when they arrived at the Chadburys, it was to learn from a somewhat flustered Mrs. Chadbury that Isabella and Lucy were out driving in the Park.
“Alone?” asked Lord Harry.
“With Lord Rupert Fitzjohn.”
“Indeed?” Lord Harry’s blue eyes narrowed. “Is Lord Rupert one of your daughter’s … er … rejects?”
“Oh, but he is all that is correct,” said Mrs. Chadbury eagerly, “and he is well aware that Isabella is affianced to you.”
“We happen to be going to the Park ourselves, ain’t we, James? No doubt we shall meet.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Chadbury nervously. “She will be so glad to see you.”
“Why didn’t you tell her of your suspicions about this Lord Rupert?” demanded James when they were outside again.
“I would really like to find out more about him first.”
They drove to the Park. It was the fashionable hour and despite the freezing cold of the day, there were many open carriages apart from their own, as the whole point of driving in Hyde Park at five in the afternoon was to be seen doing so.
It was Lucy who saw them first and let out a cry of sheer gladness. “It’s Harry—Harry and Captain James.” Neither Isabella nor Lucy noticed the shuttered look on Lord Rupert’s face.
Isabella found her heart was beating quickly. How handsome Lord Harry looked with his bright blue eyes and strong, tanned face. Beside him, Captain James was as beautifully dressed as ever.
Lord Harry had meant to drop the charade, to stop pretending to be a fop, but he did not recognize jealousy, having never suffered much from it before. He deftly stopped his carriage alongside Lord Rupert’s, swept off his hat, and said in a high mincing voice, “How delightful to see you, Miss Chadbury.” Up went that quizzing glass and he stared at her carriage dress. “Too fussy and not a good cut,” he sighed, dropping his glass. “You really must allow me to choose your clothes when we are married.”
Lucy noticed that James looked at Lord Harry in surprise when he heard that remark. She did not know that James was puzzled as to why Lord Harry had suddenly decided to keep up the act of being effeminate when he had as good as said that he would not marry Isabella. Isabella introduced Lord Rupert.
“Charmed,” murmured Lord Harry. “But my dear fellow—that waistcoat! Pink pheasants on a red ground. Faith, it hurts my eyes.”
For one brief moment, anger flashed in Lord Rupert’s eyes, but then some advice of his uncle’s sounded in his ears, “Never take up a quarrel with anyone in front of a lady. Remain courteously silent. He will look like a churl, and you will look like a gentleman.” And so he turned to Isabella and said quietly, “The day is too cold to stay here for much longer. Allow me to escort you home. But of course you would perhaps rather change carriages and join your fiancé.”
“No, no,” said Isabella quickly. She flashed a brief smile at Captain James but studiously avoided looking at Lord Harry. “Lucy and I must prepare for Almack’s.”
“Harry will take me home. Won’t you, Harry?” Lucy fairly scrambled down from Lord Rupert’s carriage. James jumped down and assisted Lucy into Lord Harry’s carriage. Isabella bowed from the waist as Lord Rupert drove off.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you,” said Lucy. “Harry, you cannot possibly want to marry Isabella. I mean, you don’t need to.”
“How can I possibly change my mind?” demanded Lord Harry. “I have ordered my wedding coat. White silk embroidered with seed pearls. Society will swoon with envy.”
Lucy looked at her brother and gave a disappointed sigh. “When I saw you driving up, Harry, you looked so manly, I hoped that you had changed back to the Harry I used to know.”
Once again, Lord Harry found himself on the point of telling Lucy about the masquerade but stopped himself. Lucy was very fond of Isabella and would no doubt tell her.
“So, Lady Lucy,” said James, “may I hope for the pleasure of a dance with you this evening?”
“Oh, yes,” said Lucy. “So you are to go! I have been very nervous at the prospect because Almack’s is such a difficult place. I am told there are dowagers there, not to mention the patronesses, who enjoy catching young ladies out in betisses and faux pas. But now that I know you are going, I think I could face anything.”
And that, thought Lucy immediately afterward, is not the way Isabella has trained me to be. I am too forward. I should be calm and elegant. But happiness was bubbling up inside her, making her feel breathless. She was sitting between Lord Rupert and Captain James, and as the carriage swung round a corner into Piccadilly, James’s thigh pressed against her own and she nearly let out an unladylike whimper, caused by combined ecstacy and pain.
James was relieved to find Lucy much the same. He had been a little taken aback by her new slim modish appearance. He felt happy and at ease in her company and found himself saying, “As Harry is no doubt going to escort Isabella to Almack’s, I shall escort you.”
“I should like that above all things,” said Lucy, turning a shining face up to his, her little snub nose pink with excitement.
“Didn’t mean to pick up Isabella,” drawled Lord Harry. “Need lots and lots of time to prettify myself. See you there.”
Lucy’s face fell, and the Captain suddenly could not bear to see all that happiness and excitement extinguished. “You may do as you please, Harry,” he said, “but for my part I should consider it a very great honor to escort your sister.”
All James needs is a push, thought Lord Harry, but how to give him one? People are very contrary, and if you tell them they can’t have something, why they immediately start to want it.
So he laughed and said gaily, “My stars, James, it is a good thing I know you to be nearly twice m’sister’s age or I should be forced to ask you your intentions. Which would be utterly ridiculous.” And he continued to laugh immoderately while his sister flashed him a look of pure hatred and James sat with his thoughts in a turmoil. He knew Harry was putting on this silly effete act in front of Lucy, and yet he felt that last remark had been Harry’s way of warning him off and the more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
By the time they reached the Chadburys’ town house, nice little charming Lucy had become imbued with all the fascination of forbidden fruit. The captain found himself pressing her little gloved hand very warmly when he said good-bye, and Lucy responded naturally in a way that would have pleased Isabella could she have seen it. Down came those ridiculously long lashes over pink cheeks and very slightly the pressure of his hand was returned.
She went straight up to her bedchamber to begin the long preparations for the ball, unaware that Isabella was at that moment entertaining Lord Rupert.
“I should not be alone with you,” Isabella was saying. “I invited you because I thought my mother would be present.”
“I will only stay a moment,” he said. “With your fiancé returned to you, Miss Chadbury, I cannot indulge myself further in these visits.”
Isabella slightly turned her head away. “No,” she agreed mournfully. “It would not be correct.”
“But perhaps you may grant me one dance this evening?”
“Certainly, my lord.”
He rose and bowed and then crossed to the door, where he stood for a few moments with his back to her. Then he swung about and said to her seriously, “But I would have you know that you may turn to me if you are in any trouble. I will always be there.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing tears shine in Isabella’s large eyes. He knew his guess had been right. She did not want to marry Lord Harry.
“Thank you,” she said in a stiffled voice. He bowed again and left.
“So these are the facts as we know them,” Lord Harry was saying. “Lord Rupert Fitzjohn sold a horse to the squire in Exeter. He could have fled to Exeter on his way back to London after trying to assault Isabella. He could have realized that the horse might mark him, and so he got rid of it. He has been rejected by Isabella. Now he may simply be a man crazed with passion. On the other hand, he may be extremely vain, vain to the point of madness. I know I was acting the fop, but did you see that waistcoat of his? Only a madman would sport something like that in the Park.”
“Now you sound like the fop you pretend to be,” said James acidly.
“What’s given you the blue devils?”
“I do not like being made to feel an old man in front of your sister!”
“You are too sensitive. Did I call you an old man? Of course not. I merely stated a fact and that fact is that you are nearly twice my sister’s age.”
“I am thirty. Your sister is nearly eighteen. Isabella is nineteen and yet that does not seem to faze you. I fear your act is taking over and becoming the reality, Harry. You are in danger of becoming a posturing fool. It should have been your concern to escort your sister to her first evening at Almack’s.”
“Lucy is well able to look after herself,” said Lord Harry, deliberately appearing to stifle a yawn.
“Well, I am going to bathe and change and leave you to your meditations. But consider this. Your behavior to Isabella will be enough to drive her into the arms of any man other than you.”
The captain stalked out. Lord Harry swung his feet up on a chair opposite and thoughtfully studied his distorted face reflected in the shiny toecaps of his boots. He would need to watch Lord Rupert closely, perhaps get to know him. If the man were genuine in his love for Isabella, then he could have her. But Lord Harry’s face suddenly darkened. Damn him! No man who prowled the countryside waiting to assault a female to exact revenge was trustworthy. No passion on this earth could excuse such behavior. To warn Isabella, he shrewdly guessed, would be to drive her further into Lord Rupert’s hairy arms. “And I am sure he does have hairy arms,” said Lord Harry aloud and viciously, causing one of the tottering old servants who had come in to make up the fire to drop the coal scuttle.
Lord Harry had meant, had really intended, to escort Isabella and his sister, but he worried over the problem of Lord Rupert and Isabella until a banging of the street door and a glance at the clock told him the hour was late and James had left without him.
A shadow crossed Lucy’s golden evening on the way to the ball when the captain said, “I must thank you for your beautiful letters.” Lucy gave him a stricken look and the captain wondered what on earth he had said to upset her. He felt he could not pursue the matter with Isabella and her parents present and wished them all at the devil.
To his relief, Isabella and her parents were hailed by friends, and so he brought Lucy a glass of lemonade and, by turning his back on the Chadburys and shielding her from their view, managed to ask her why she had appeared so distressed when he had mentioned her letters. “I feel like a fraud,” said Lucy. “My spelling despite Isabella’s schooling this past summer is still atrocious, and so I got Isabella to write them for me. I thought you liked them. You wrote and said they were like a breath of English air.”
“I meant a breath of cold English air,” said the captain smiling down at her. “I would rather have had your misspelled letters than Miss Chadbury’s formal epistles. Now I know she wrote them, I can find it in my heart to feel slightly sorry for your reprehensible brother.”
“Do not misjudge Isabella,” said Lucy, flying to her friend’s defense. “It is very hard surely for someone else to write one’s letters. They cannot possibly say the things one wants to say.”
His gray eyes teased her. “And can you tell me now what you would have said?”
&
nbsp; Lucy looked down at her fan. “Oh, lots of things but … but I forget what they were.”
“But you remembered me,” he said softly, “and that was terribly important.”
“I was worried about you,” said Lucy in a low voice. “I feared you might have been killed.”
A young man appeared at Lucy’s side and begged the next dance and she curtsied to the captain and walked off with her partner.
James felt a pang of pure jealousy as he watched them go. Did Lucy really need to smile so charmingly up at her partner?
He folded his arms and stood behind the roped enclosure of the ball room floor, determined to secure her for the next dance.
Isabella, he noticed, was dancing gracefully with Lord Rupert Fitzjohn. Where, oh, where was Harry?
Lord Harry made a late and sensational arrival with his parents. But it was not Lord Harry who made the social crowd stop and gasp, but his mother, the countess. Her curls were even brassier than ever, and she was wearing a flame-colored silk gown. Around her neck blazed a diamond necklace and a diamond tiara adorned her hair. There was a diamond brooch on her shoulder and her gown was fastened down the front with diamond clasps. The earl had obviously had a considerable amount of the gems that had hung for so long from the chandelier in his hall set in gold for his wife. The countess preened as she turned this way and that, enjoying the sensation she was creating.
Isabella saw Lord Harry arrive and for a moment was surprised. He was correctly and fashionably dressed in a black evening coat and black silk breeches and white stockings with gold clocks. His blue eyes were dancing with mischief as they ranged around the ball room. It was, reflected Isabella, like looking at an attractive stranger. And then he saw her and his face changed and became set in lines of pouting discontent. He minced toward her. “I think we should dance,” he said, “I believe it is the waltz and I waltz divinely.”
“You are come too late,” said Isabella in a thin voice. “I did not expect you and therefore have no dances to spare. The waltz is promised to Lord Rupert here.”
