by Amanda Scott
“Open it, Caro.” He unfobbed his snuffbox, flicked it open without taking his gaze from her, then flicked it shut again and put it away. Had she not known he was never nervous, she would have thought him nervous now.
More curious than ever, she opened the box. Inside, lying on black satin, were four delicate jewel flowers attached to a fine silver chain. She caught her breath, touching the first, a bugle flower made of amethysts. The others were a ruby rose with a diamond center, a sapphire cornflower, and something else of pink rubies that she could not identify. All had emerald leaves and finely wrought silver stems.
“They are beautiful,” she said softly, gazing at them for a long moment before pointing to the last. “What is this one?”
“Lousewort,” he said, grinning.
“Sydney!” She looked up, laughing. “It is not!”
“It is, I assure you, and I’m glad it made you laugh. I’ve thought more than once tonight that you were a trifle out of sorts and hoped this little bauble might cheer you up. You said you wanted spring flowers. It is not a full bouquet, of course, but ’tis the best I could do on short notice. If you like, I daresay we can find more to add to the chain.”
“No, I like it as it is,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Thank you, Sydney. I shall always treasure my bouquet. Will you put it on me, please? I’ll put my pearls in a drawer or somewhere.”
“I’ll look after them for you,” he said, moving behind her and deftly unfastening the clasp. He slipped the pearls into his coat pocket and fastened the silver chain around her neck in their place. The flowers rested two inches above the edge of her bodice. “Very nice,” he said, turning her. “Their delicacy suits you. Daresay we ought to go back to the others now.”
“Indeed, we should. I want to show my necklace off.”
When they returned to the large saloon where the dancing was to take place, they discovered that the musicians had been waiting only for their arrival to begin. After the first set, Sydney’s attention was soon claimed by someone else, and Carolyn thought her next two partners rather dull. Moreover, the room was hot, so when Lyndhurst asked her a second time to walk with him, she accepted at once.
“Is there a punchbowl somewhere?” he asked, drawing her a little away from the crowd.
“Oh, yes, in the next room, and I should be grateful for some punch. Parties are always so noisy, aren’t they, and the musicians seem to play louder and louder in an attempt to overcome the chatter, but everyone just talks louder. I am beginning to have the headache.”
“My poor Caro.”
“I am not yours, Lyndhurst,” she said severely.
“Perhaps not yet,” he said, smiling down at her in a way that made her want to slap him. The adjoining room was quieter but nearly as hot, thanks to the fire burning on the hearth, and when Lyndhurst handed her a glass of champagne punch, she drank it quickly. Another guest stepped up to speak to her, and a few moments later, when the viscount handed her a second glass of punch, she realized she had not even been aware that he had left her. She sipped as she continued to talk, and began to feel strangely relaxed and more cheerful.
When they returned to the larger room, Lyndhurst said, “I claim the privilege of leading you out for the next dance, my dear, and I’ll not be denied.”
She didn’t care by then who led her out, so she placed her hand obediently in his, thinking her rout party had become a great deal more fun than she had expected it to be. When their set was over and Brandon suddenly appeared before them, apparently out of nowhere, she turned away from Lyndhurst without a second thought to greet him with delight and a scolding.
“Scoundrel, where have you been?”
“Oh, out and about,” he replied airily as he took her hand and led her into the next set. “Went to Leicester and won a pony on a horserace, so I went on to Newmarket. Invitation never came my way, but most fortunately, I met someone or other who chanced to mention your party. Came straightaway back to Bath. Many happy returns, by the bye.” He glanced around. “Look here, you don’t really want to dance in this crush. Want some punch?”
Agreeing that the floor was too crowded, she went with him, and by the time her guests began to depart, she knew she had allowed her various escorts to ply her with too much wine. She had enjoyed the attention, however, and was feeling particularly pleased with herself for having managed to deflect every attempt to take her aside into a private room. Lyndhurst, visibly fuming at having been left so ignominiously when Brandon arrived, had made more than one attempt. Sydney had intervened the last time, but that hadn’t distressed her at all, and she didn’t much care about anything now. As she looked at the sweeping stairway, she wondered how it had got so high in just a few short hours.
“Going up?”
She turned to find Sydney behind her and remembered vaguely having observed him only a moment or two before, speaking to a few of the last departing guests. The dowager and Miss Pucklington had gone upstairs sometime earlier.
“What are you doing there?” she demanded. “You ought to be overseeing the culmination of this wondrous carouse.” The words came out precisely, just as she had intended them to do, and she congratulated herself. She was not tipsy. Had she been the least bit inebriated, she could not have spoken so clearly. Nonetheless, perhaps it would be a good idea, instead of going up to her bedchamber at once, just to step outside for a moment to clear her head in case she chanced to run into Lady Skipton upstairs. She turned on the thought and moved toward the door, passing Sydney without a word, giving no consideration whatever to the fact that he had not replied to her question.
Sydney regarded her thoughtfully, watching as she made her way across the hall to the front door and gestured grandly to the porter, who was waiting to snuff the lights, to open it for her.
“Now, miss?” the man asked, glancing at his master. Smiling broadly, Sydney nodded at him, and the porter pulled the door wide, allowing Carolyn to sail through it without pause.
VII
THE NIGHT WAS COLD but crystal clear, and the stars blazed above her like scattered diamonds on the black-satin lining of her jewel box. Though the wide marble steps leading down to the drive seemed a trifle unsteady beneath her feet and the gravel of the drive felt sharp through the thin soles of her silk dancing slippers, she ignored everything except the sense of freedom and solitude that washed over her with the crisp night air. And if her shoulders were a mass of gooseflesh, the headache that had plagued her most of the evening was gone. All in all, she felt wonderful. She would stroll in the hedge garden.
The feeling of exhilaration lasted until she had passed through what seemed somehow to be a much-narrower-than-usual opening in the tall hedges bordering the east garden. The area beyond was dark, for there was no moon above and despite the starlight, she could identify nothing ahead at first but deep, dense shadows. She paused unsteadily, seeking, listening. Was that a rustle? Was someone there? Peering ahead, she saw no movement and took courage from the fact, determined to have her walk. The narrow gravel pathway between lower, bordering hedges was visible now. She strolled bravely on.
Soon she noticed that her feet were hurting and that she was very cold. And she heard more noises—a crunch of gravel. Someone or something was prowling behind her. Whirling to look, she stumbled, and when she had regained her balance, she could see only more shadows. Taking a side path that glimmered gray beneath the stars, she hurried a little, then glanced again over her shoulder, experiencing a wave of dizziness and a sudden wish that she had remained indoors. Was that someone? She could see only the path, and only a few feet of that. Another wave of dizziness hit her, making her stagger when she began moving forward. She shut her eyes, but that only made her more giddy, so she opened them again in time to see a small shadow flit across the path just in front of her.
Startled, she cried out, realizing it was a cat only seconds before another sound behind made her whirl again. A much larger shape
loomed out of the darkness toward her, and with a shriek, she spun on her heel to run, but her legs would not cooperate. Tripping over the nearest boxwood, she fell ignominiously flat on her face in the barren flower bed beyond it. As she scrabbled frantically on hands and knees to escape, there came a footstep beside her, and a strong hand grasped her arm. Hearing Sydney’s voice say her name, she expelled a gusty sob of relief.
“Are you hurt?” he asked calmly.
“Just my dignity.” She stared up at him, glad it was only he but furious that he had made her fall. “You frightened me witless! What were you thinking, to creep up on me like that?”
“You appeared to desire solitude,” he said reasonably as he helped her up, “but after watching how unsteadily you walked, I decided to follow to be sure you found your way back again, and when you let out that almighty screech …” He let his voice trail into silence, evidently thinking he had said enough.
She brushed off her skirt and hands and felt quickly to be certain her necklace had not been lost. Finding it safe, she said with forced calm and careful enunciation, “I am perfectly all right. You may go back to the house now.”
“May I, indeed?” There was amusement in his voice. “I think you had better come inside with me, Caro. You are in no state to be out here alone, as I should think this little incident would prove to you if you were thinking straight.”
“I can think perfectly straight,” she said, affronted. “Goodness me, Sydney, do you think me inebriated?”
“I do.”
“Well, I am no such thing,” she said, squaring her shoulders and ignoring a new wave of light-headedness. Drawing a breath, she said carefully, “A lady never becomes inebriated.”
He was silent.
Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “Well?”
“I shan’t be so rude as to contradict you,” he said gently. “Are you ready to go back?”
“I wish to be alone, if you please.”
“I don’t think so. Your teeth are chattering.”
“They are my teeth!”
When without further ado, he scooped her up into his arms and turned back toward the house, she shrieked, “No, Sydney! Don’t you dare. Put me down at once!”
“No.”
“Damn you, Sydney, I command you!”
“Command away,” he said, making no attempt to conceal his amusement now, “but if you mean to swear at me, my dear Caro, I suggest that you lower your voice. It would not do for Mama or Cousin Judith, or indeed any of the servants, to hear you.”
Opening her mouth to tell him she did not care what anyone thought, she hiccupped instead. Horrified, she clapped her hand over her mouth, only to find herself giggling a moment later. “I never giggle,” she informed him in a confidential tone.
He was silent, and she listened carefully to see if he was breathing heavily from his exertion, but all she heard was the crunch of his feet on the gravel. They were on the drive. A moment later, the crunching stopped when he reached the steps.
“I daresay I am too heavy for you,” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder and thinking how very comfortable it was there.
“Don’t be foolish,” he said.
“I can walk, you know.”
“No doubt you can, in your own fashion, but I have no wish to follow you up the stairs, leaping at every stagger and lurch to try to catch you before you tumble down them again. ’Twould affront my dignity to be dancing about so.”
“What about mine?” But she chuckled sleepily. “I had not thought you strong enough to carry me, sir—certainly not up two whole flights of stairs—but I daresay it would affront your dignity even more to drop me, would it not?”
“I won’t drop you.” His voice was gentle, and deciding he was disinclined to tease her further, she allowed her eyelids to droop and her body to relax.
She stirred briefly when he laid her down upon her bed and again when she felt a hand at her bodice, but it was only Maggie. Sidney had gone. Strangely disappointed, she did little to help Maggie undress her and sank back against her pillows with a sigh of relief when the maid had gone.
She knew nothing more until she awoke the following morning to the painful realization that she had grossly deceived herself by imagining for so much as a moment that she had not had too much to drink. Her headache had returned with a vengeance, throbbing, pounding, bludgeoning her skull from the inside, and the clinking of the rings when Maggie opened the curtains was as the clanging of metal bars all around her. She groaned and buried her head beneath her pillow.
“Miss, are you ill?” Maggie tugged gently at the pillow.
“Go away and leave me alone!” Her own voice, muffled by the pillow, thundered in her head with blinding pain.
“I’ll fetch Miss Pucklington,” Maggie exclaimed, dismayed.
“I don’t want her!” Pushing the pillow aside and groaning when the light hit her eyes, Carolyn saw that the maid already had the door open. “No, Maggie,” she cried, trying to sit up, “come back!” Her stomach heaved, and falling back, she clapped a hand to her mouth and pulled the pillow over her face again.
Maggie hesitated. “But, Miss Carolyn—”
Another voice interrupted her. “Run along, Maggie. I’ll see to your mistress.”
“But, sir—” There was a brief silence before Maggie said, “Yes, sir. You’ve only to ring, sir, if you want me.”
“I know,” Sydney said. “Now, off with you.” There was another silent moment while Carolyn lay rigid, appalled not so much at the fact that Sydney had entered bedchamber but that Maggie had allowed him to do so. Then he said cheerfully, “Good morning, Caro. I’ve brought you something to make you feel much more the thing, but you cannot drink it through that pillow, I’m afraid. You must sit up.”
“Go away, Sydney. I detest you. You’ve no business to be in my bedchamber, and well you know it.”
“I don’t know it. You are in my charge, my dear.”
“I am of age now,” she muttered through gritted teeth, wincing at every word. “I am in no one’s charge.”
“As you pointed out to me not long since, your coming of age changes little,” he said in a different tone. “This is my house, Caro, and I’ve every right to do as I please in it. Now, stop being foolish and sit up. Ching Ho’s recipe is better drunk while it is still warm, as I know from my own sad experience.”
Unaccustomed as she was to hear such firmness from him and curious despite her ills to see what he had brought her, she obeyed without more fuss, pushing the pillow to the floor and struggling to raise herself without making her head ache more than it already did. Sydney stood beside the bed, precise to a pin as always, in biscuit-colored pantaloons and a perfectly fitting dark blue coat. To her astonishment, he carried a bouquet of violets in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.
Setting the mug down on the bed table, he recovered the pillow and shoved it behind her, then straightened again, letting her arrange her blankets herself. Yanking them high, though her night dress was modest by any standard, she said carefully, “I must tell you, sir, that in view of the way I presently feel, those flowers of yours might soon grace my funeral wreath.”
He chuckled. “Bad, Caro?”
She groaned. “Don’t you dare to make me laugh, Sydney.”
“Drink this,” he said, his eyes alight with amusement as he reached for the mug. “It will make you feel much better.”
She took it from him and eyed the contents suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Lord, I don’t know. Ching Ho has any number of Oriental secrets to which I am not privy. That mixture is only one of them, but I can vouch for its excellence. Drink it down, and don’t sip it either. Best if you hold your nose, in fact.”
She sipped and made a face. “This is awful. I am persuaded that you mean to murder me with some Oriental poison.”
“Nonsense. Drink it. You may trust me, Caro.”
She looked at him for a long moment, th
en pinched her nostrils shut with one hand while she tilted the contents down her throat with the other. When she had finished, she handed him the mug and sat very still while she waited for the room to stop spinning. Thirty seconds later, when her head still pounded and her stomach seemed about to disgrace her, she glared at Sydney.
“Patience,” he said. “It takes a few minutes, even for a brew of Ching Ho’s manufacture. Smell your violets.” He handed her the bouquet. “Here, I’ll fill your tooth mug with water, and you may use it for a vase until Maggie brings you something better. These aren’t spring flowers, but I thought you would like them. I found them while I was riding through the wood this morning. Didn’t think there would be a thing left after all the weather we’ve had, but these were nestled in the hollow of a tree root, just waiting for me to find them.”
He continued to talk about his ride, speaking in his customary quiet way, and she closed her eyes, knowing he would not take offense. She felt herself relaxing, felt the pounding ease at last and finally disappear, whereupon she slept.
When she awoke more than an hour later, she felt greatly refreshed. Her headache was gone, and her energy had returned. Rising, she rang for Maggie, then walked to the window to look out at the distant, sunlit view of the city of Bath while she contemplated the results of Oriental magic.
The city, appearing magical itself with the sun glittering on the golden Bath stone of which most of its buildings were constructed, looked peaceful and serene, tucked as it was in the bowl formed by the steep hills surrounding it. Compared to London, where activity hummed twenty-four hours a day, Bath was a sleepy village, and it was hard to believe that it had been much as it was now since the days of the Romans, but so it was, for Sydney had told her so. Indeed, she had learned as much at school, but she had never had quite the same faith in her mistresses at school as she had in Sydney.
Turning from the window, she smiled as her gaze came to rest on the little bouquet in her tooth mug. She had not thanked him. She would do so as soon as she dressed.
