Rescuing Rosalind (Three Original Ladies and Their Gentlemen)

by Vandagriff, G. G.

  “Perhaps I am seeking forgiveness for ever having called you overindulged.”

  “Why? This seems the height of indulgence for you to involve yourself with this start of mine.”

  “Let us just say that I am beginning to understand you better.”

  “And why do you think that?”

  “I wanted to go to sea from the time I could walk, I think. It is the only future I ever envisioned for myself. If anyone or anything had prevented that, I would have been far more distrait than you are. For the most part, you bear your burden well.”

  “You mean the burden of being a proper young lady of the ton?”

  “Yes. But do not push me too far. We must make this adventure as foolproof as possible, for the sake of your sister and the duke. Now, what stage name do you fancy?”

  “I shall be ‘Gillian Taylor,' I think. You may call me Gillie.”

  “I shall do nothing of the sort. Haven’t I told you? To me, you will always be Rosalind.”

  She favored him with a girlish grin and then hid behind her fan.

  He continued, “And I think you should come from deep in the West Country. South Wales, possibly. A better surname would be Lewis or Griffith.”

  “Gillian Griffith. Yes. Memorable. And Wales is a good notion. It is a well-known fact that the Welsh are very dramatic. Being from Shropshire, no doubt I have some Welsh blood.” Rosalind smiled a dreamy smile that he was beginning to connect with mischief. “My father shall be a coal miner, and we shall be very poor.”

  “Perhaps your mother takes in laundry,” he said. It was no good being tongue in cheek, however, as the most outrageous ideas were always perfectly acceptable to Rosalind.

  “Yes. And I have two little brothers who are in the mines, as well.”

  “What shall you do for clothing?”

  “That will not present a problem. I shall borrow a dress from my maid. Not her uniform. The dress she wears on her days out. We are of a size. I already possess a wonderful black wig.”

  A terrible thought assailed him. “Rosalind.”

  The smile left her face. “You look like you have been struck by lightning.”

  “Just a terrible thought. You cannot go through with this.” Dash it, he was actually in a quake.

  “We have a bargain, my lord.” She stood straight and stubborn, her cheeks flaming.

  “But, my dear, have you thought this through?” he asked. “You are bound to be the most tremendous success. Then what will you do?”

  “You are right.” She bit her lower lip.

  “Your sister and Ruisdell will be all agog to see the latest sensation. And many others who know you well. I do not understand all the rules of the ton and think most of them fustian, but the world of the demimonde is not one I should like to see you in.”

  She remained downcast, but Buck could see that she was thinking furiously. “I have it,” she said at last. “I really do see that becoming a professional actress is an impossibility. I only ask to have the experience of just once performing on the London stage. Think of it as the equivalent of winning a race or a prize fight. I shall perform once, and then, to all intents and purposes, I shall disappear, never to be heard from again!”

  Though he knew it was indefensible, he could not keep from sympathizing with her. “It will take all your strength to bow out, you realize.”

  “Yes. I imagine it will. But one person will always know it was me. The Marquis of Deal.”

  Her confidence in him warmed his heart. She really was a taking little thing. How could he resist helping her have this one triumph?

  Before the glow in his chest had died, they were joined by Westringham. “I say, Miss Edwards, I have been looking for you everywhere. What business can you have with this decrepit old man?”

  Buck stifled his annoyance and took his leave as gracefully as possible. Compared to Westringham’s twenty-eight years, his own thirty-two did make him an old man. But not quite decrepit.

  { 8 }

  THE MORNING AFTER THE SOMERSET BALL, Fanny received a sheaf of red roses from Viscount Westringham accompanied by a card. I look forward to our ride in the park this afternoon. She smiled to herself with deep satisfaction, realizing she had him completely diddled. He had no idea she was Rosalind, the lightskirt with the heavy veil.

  An elaborate mixed bouquet in russet shades was Warmsby’s offering. His card was signed, One day I shall lose myself in your eyes. Forever Yours. Tearing the card across, she had to admit to herself that the Earl’s attentions were becoming too marked. She would need to employ some stratagem to keep him at a distance, but as yet, she knew not what that would be. Such an accomplished womanizer as Warmsby was capable of anything, as she knew. Perhaps if she stayed in the company of others and refused his requests to dance, she could make certain that she was never alone with him. She should not have let the excitement of being courted by a rake overcome her sense.

  She took up her quill to write to her sister Sophie. She missed her sister and her understanding heart. But Sophie was immured at Ruisdell Palace at her own request, studying the violin intensely with an excellent master. She did not wish the complications of a social life at the moment.

  Dearest of Sisters,

  I will find myself in the suds again if I am not careful. There is no question about it. My judgment is far too yielding. I do not know why I am always dancing on the edge of propriety.

  For reasons I do not perfectly understand, I wished to see what it was like to dance with a rake, and now I have encouraged one who is a scoundrel of the deepest dye. Elise would never have encouraged Warmsby. Elise would never appear on stage. However, I am not Elise, more’s the pity.

  I have this plan to audition for Rosalind at the Covent Garden Theater. I shall wear my black wig and false teeth. An obliging peer of my acquaintance is set to pose as my manager.

  I do not need to tell you that this plan could well put me beyond the pale, if discovered, resulting in my being sent back to Ruisdell Palace or, even worse, to Shropshire. So why, dear Sophie, am I so driven to try for a chance to tread the boards?

  Possibly you understand, because of your devotion to your instrument. But Elise never will. And she is so good. Mother demanded more of her than any of us. Her life was far more miserable than mine. And now, she is a pillar of society with her soup kitchen for wounded soldiers and her devoted husband. You cannot even count Elise’s writing career as a rebellion since she writes under a pseudonym. And that is a shame, because she is so talented.

  But when I saw Elise so abused, it had a very different effect on me. Instead of suffering the canings or the slaps, I became secretive, with only you as my confidante. That is where the acting comes in, Sophie. And my desire to appear on stage. Remember how I acted out all the Shakespeare plays—going outdoors at all times of year? I see now that I did it for no glorious motive, but just to escape. And somehow, it all became a permanent part of me. And a permanent protest against Mother and refinement.

  Oh, Sophie, I do miss you so. I hope this letter makes sense to you.

  All my love,

  Fanny

  After sealing the letter, she walked to her window. The view outside did not interest her today. She was too busy monitoring her inner thoughts.

  I will not land a duke. I do not even want a duke.

  A vision of the captain as she had first seen him in the palace garden, dressed in his naval uniform, rose before her. He was such a puzzle. One moment, he was Old Sobersides; the next moment, he was ready for anything. She thought once more that he would make a comfortable husband. Could she make him fall in love with her? How did one accomplish that sort of feat?

  On this, she could use her older sister’s advice. At this time of morning, Elise would be in the nursery.

  “Good morning, Viscount Mayfield!” she greeted her five-year-old nephew as she walked into his realm. Running to her, Alistair threw his arms around her legs. “Auntie Fan! Did you bring me a present?”

&nbs
p; She ruffled his glossy black hair. “Greedy thing. Maybe tomorrow. I must visit the shops today.”

  Emma toddled up to her and, with great determination, pried her brother loose. “My Fanneee.”

  “Good morning, love,” said Elise. “What are you up to this morning?”

  Fanny sat on the floor with Alistair and began helping him to build his castle with the blocks the duke had fashioned by hand.

  “I need advice,” she said to her sister. “You had four fiancés. How do you cause someone to fall in love with you?”

  Elise laughed. “Have you anyone in mind?”

  “I rather like Marquis of Deal. But he thinks I amm a troublesome baggage half the time. The other half he spends egging me on. I do not know what to make of him.”

  “But you are not in love with him?”

  “I do not know. He is hard to understand.”

  “I imagine he finds you equally mystifying.”

  “We are like two cocks, circling one another, but we scarcely ever touch.”

  “Well, I can tell you this much,” her sister said. “Being in love is the ultimate adventure. I think you would know if you were.”

  “Were you in love with all your fiancés? That seems a bit excessive.”

  “When Joshua died, I thought I had finished with love. I thought Robert would be a responsible husband and would take good care of me. I thought maybe I would learn to love him.”

  “But he turned out to be mad.”

  “Yes, and then Gregory. I did think I loved him, but it turned out that I really did not know him. He was a terrible cad. Falling in love with the duke took me by surprise. And it was unlike anything I had experienced before.”

  “In what way?”

  “It was like a thunderstorm—powerful, a little frightening, and completely unstoppable. But then it settled down into wonderful daily happiness. I do not think anyone can manage a thunderstorm every day.”

  “Is it like that for everyone?”

  “I do not know. But you cannot invent it, Fan, or make it happen.”

  Emma had crawled into Fanny’s lap and was sticking her fingers in her aunt’s mouth. Seizing her, Fanny began tickling her without mercy until the little girl wrenched herself away, smashing the castle. Alistair yelled at his sister.

  Elise took Emma while Fanny reassured Alistair by rebuilding the part of the castle that his sister had destroyed.

  “You are going to be a wonderful mother, Fan. I cannot wait to see the day.”

  “Well, it may be a while in coming,” Fanny said with an elaborate sigh.

  “I do not know the marquis well, so I cannot really advise you. But this much I can tell you, Fan: you need to drop the act when you are with him. Be yourself.”

  Fanny felt a spurt of panic. “But, Elise, who is that?” Trying to understand the source of her sudden anxiety, she said, “I can only play parts.”

  “You are not playing a part right now.”

  “Then, tell me who I am. You have known me all my life.”

  “You have always been a very adventurous, affectionate creature. You are creative, imaginative, and a rebel when faced with something you do not want to do.” Taking Emma on to her lap, she combed her daughter’s blonde curls with her fingers. “But deep down inside, Fan, you are vulnerable. We all are—you and me and Sophie. Because of mother. We can be hurt far more easily than most people, so we are very slow to trust or to acknowledge deep feeling.”

  Fanny pondered this. She knew instinctively that what Elise said was true. Why then had she been so quick to trust Deal? It was a mystery to her.

  * * *

  She loved to ride in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. Lord Westringham had a very smart curricle and a bang-up pair of chestnuts. The crowd of fashionables was enormous, but, for a sailor, Viscount Westringham was an excellent whip. Their progress through the park was slow but steady.

  “Have you known the captain. . . er. . . the marquis, a long time?” he asked.

  “I met him years ago at Ruisdell Palace. He was very rude to me.”

  Westringham laughed. “What did he do?”

  Looking at the viscount’s elegant profile as he managed his horses, she said, “He quelled my pretensions, which is never a good idea. I am very attached to them.”

  “Ah. There are two things the captain cannot abide: pretentiousness and bullying.”

  “Well, I am not a bully, at least.”

  “Nor do I find you pretentious.”

  “Thank you for that. You might, however, if you knew me better.” She stopped to acknowledge Sally Jersey, who had come up beside the curricle.

  “Miss Edwards,” Lady Jersey said from her open carriage. “I have not had the privilege of meeting this gentleman.”

  “Lady Jersey, may I present the Viscount Westringham? He is recently returned from the wars, where he served as a naval first lieutenant.” Turning to her escort, she said, “Lady Jersey is one of the patronesses of Almack’s.”

  Lord Westringham tipped his hat. “My lady, it is a pleasure indeed.”

  “It is presentable young men such as yourself that we value highly at Almack’s. I will be most delighted to provide you with a voucher.”

  Fanny’s escort tipped his hat again. “I thank you. That is an honor, your ladyship.”

  With a slight incline of the head, Lady Jersey drove on.

  “It shall be all over London by this evening that I have a very handsome beau,” Fanny told her companion. “Next to the Marquis of Somerset, Sally Jersey is the greatest gossip in London.”

  “Ah, her news will not be received well by your other admirers, I imagine.”

  “Of whom do you speak?”

  “Warmsby, for one. Most likely, he will call me out.”

  Fanny called a greeting to her aunt, Lady Clarice Manton, and her companion, Miss Susannah Braithwaite. They pulled over to the curricle, and Fanny introduced them to her escort.

  “Lovely to meet any friend of dear Fanny’s,” her Aunt Clarice said. “I do believe I read of your elevation to the peerage recently.”

  “In the navy, were you not?” her companion asked.

  “Yes,” the viscount answered. “Second son. Regrettably, my brother died in a hunting accident. Totally unanticipated by me. Miss Edwards is helping me to find my feet among the ton.”

  Sukey laughed. “Then you had best take care. Where Fanny leads, it is not always wise to follow!”

  “Sukey! You are not one to talk, with your beetle collection and Henry Five,” Aunt Clarice said.

  “Henry Five?” Westringham asked.

  “An enormous tortoise,” Fanny told him. “Named for some reason after Henry the Fifth. He is well known in ton circles, as are my aunt and Sukey. I declare that they are such well-established eccentrics that they could get away with anything outrageous. I am jealous, of course.”

  “You wish to be outrageous?”

  “Certainly. I am no milk-and-water miss, Lord Westringham.”

  “That she certainly is not,” said Aunt Clarice. “My nieces all have strong personalities. I tell you this as a kindly word of warning, my lord. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  When they had passed by, Fanny resumed their prior conversation. “Lord Warmsby has no proprietary rights where I am concerned. He has a very bad reputation and Elise, my sister, will not even receive him.” She continued, “He ruined the reputation of my dear friend, Miss Hinchcliffe. They had an aborted elopement to Gretna. Her father caught them, but the damage was done. I think it would have been all right if he had been in love with her, but all the world knew it was not that. Lord Warmsby coveted her fortune.”

  “I am surprised that you will stand up with the fellow, Miss Edwards.”

  She shrugged. “I had a passing interest in rakes. Just for the sake of experience. However, now that I am over it, he will keep being difficult.” Fanny frowned fiercely.

  “Is there any way that I can help with the problem?”

  �
��You are very kind, Lord Westringham. I think that your presence by my side on occasion may be useful in showing the earl that he is not my exclusive choice.” This hope of hers was very real, as was her idea that the attentions of this friend of the captain’s might have a useful effect on Deal.

  “I will be very happy to lend you my presence. I hope you do not think me too forward when I tell you that I anticipate with pleasure getting to know you better.”

  Fanny was suddenly uncomfortable. His words were ardent and sincere. How could she use someone with a genuine regard for her? It was despicable! She remained silent as she tried to think of some way to dampen the viscount’s ardor without offending him. Drat! Elise had the finesse required for this kind of thing, but she was sadly lacking.

  As though sensing that his words had disturbed Fanny, her escort broke the silence. “I realize, Miss Edwards, that I, myself, am not in any kind of exclusive situation either.”

  “I do not wish to seem fickle or missish . . .”

  “You are neither. You are only charming. It is no wonder you have so many suitors for your hand.”

  “You are very kind. Your friend finds me an impudent baggage. I think he is closer to the truth.”

  “Never say so! He has not spent enough time about women. I have heard him say that his mother was not the sterling standard by which to judge others.”

  “Is that why you think he is a misogynist?”

  Clearly startled, the viscount looked at her. “Did I say that?”

  Fanny was suddenly conscious of the scene in the Richmond inn where she had heard the lieutenant use the word. Alarmed and worried she might further muddle her conversations with the Viscount if she continued, she said, “I fear that this monstrous crowd of people is giving me the headache. I feel unwell. Would you mind terribly if we returned?”

  Westringham was all concern. “Not at all, Miss Edwards. We will have you home in a trice.”

  * * *

  The following morning, at the breakfast table, Fanny was surprised by the arrival of a note which the duke informed her had been delivered by Lord Westringham’s valet.