Sir Anthony felt sadly lacking under his scrutiny. “Why, no. I don’t have any money. That is, not on me. That’s why I’m wishful to be taken up” Something about the way the lad was eyeing him made him hesitate to mention Ginny and Nan. “I had a carriage wreck a ways down the road. Where are you headed?”
The boy, as Sir Anthony could now see, gathered the reins in one hand and pulled a cheroot from his pocket with the other. “The Swan and Flute”
With a sinking feeling Sir Anthony had to own that he was not surprised. “My things are down the road in that very direction if it would not be too much trouble to take me up”
“I will, in exchange for somethin’ valuable.” The boy’s eyes fell again to Sir Anthony’s waistcoat. “Somethin’ you might be havin’ about your person, if you knows wot I mean.”
“Sorry, my dear fellow, but some of your friends have already relieved me of everything I had on me” All of a sudden this fellow didn’t look quite so honest, his cart not so large, and his pony not so sharp.
“You don’t say? Well, in that case, I’d be willin’ to trade you a ride for that fine-lookin’ waistcoat you gots on. Bang up to the mark, that one is.”
“What!” Sir Anthony ran a hand over the silver threads of his favorite waistcoat. It was the only article of clothing on his person that had not suffered irreparable damage. Even one of his boots was scarred from the encounter with the cartwheel.
“I have an eye for fine clothin’,” the boy confided. “From wot I can see, that’s about all you have worth taking off ya”
“Very well,” Sir Anthony said with a cold smile. He jerked off his overcoat, easily done without the aid of his valet due to the rents in the shoulder seams, and tossed it into the cart.
“Don’t be so hasty with the waistcoat,” the boy demanded. “Don’t wants no tears in it.”
Sir Anthony glared at him, then removed the waistcoat and handed it to the boy, who whistled a low coo, slipped off his own tattered coat, and donned the waistcoat with the greatest reverence. As the boy replaced his own attire and tilted his hat at a jauntier angle, Sir Anthony realized the lad’s entire wardrobe seemed to be made up, piece by piece, from various others.
With a growl, he jumped onto the cart and took the reins from the boy, who whistled a happy tune. Sir Anthony flicked the reins and the cart went into motion. Thankfully, the boy soon ceased his infernal whistling and fell to rubbing his very dirty hands over the dovegray stripes.
The cart groaned with every turn of the wheel, the pony nickered and neighed if induced to go faster than two miles per hour, and the grubby boy eyed Sir Anthony’s fine lawn shirt. Sir Anthony contented himself with thoughts of his success. Ginny would be relieved when he returned with transportation. It was a little slow-moving, but there was room for Nan to stretch out on the seat, with some to spare for their things. Once he dropped the boy at his destination, there would be room for Ginny up on the box.
He supposed the boy would ask for his shirt in return for payment of the horse and cart. He hoped Tubbins would vouch for him, assure the boy that he would return with money when he could. Not that the vehicle was worth more than a few shillings.
After what seemed an interminably long time spent imagining Ginny’s relief at his return, Sir Anthony turned a bend in the road. It was all that stood between him and Ginny’s rescue. He was surprised at his own relief when he saw her standing by the landaulet, peering inside. It seemed to have grown in the dark. Surely it was never so elegant, even when it was new. He was about to shout out in greeting when he saw the crest on the door, vividly gold against the shining black, and he knew the dusk had played a trick on him.
The moment of triumph he had imagined turned into a nightmare when two man-sized shadows detached themselves from the carriage. They moved toward the landaulet, which Sir Anthony could now clearly see a little farther down the road. They removed something from the backseat, which must have been Nan, and placed her inside the waiting coach, then helped Ginny step up to disappear into the inky blackness.
“Ginny, no!” he shouted, but the carriage was already in motion. His voice could not be heard over the rattle of the wheels.
Inside the carriage, Ginny thanked providence the Barringtons happened by. If left much longer in her predicament, she felt sure she would have had to succumb to a fit of the vapors. Hysteria was not Ginny’s weakness, but she had had enough of wringing her hands.
“It is wonderful to see you my dear, wonderful!” Squire Barrington reached over and patted her hand. “How are your roses this season?”
Ginny suppressed a sigh. How could she have forgotten the man’s obsession with Dunsmere’s roses? He rode over nearly once a week to discuss pruning tactics and talk sweet to Grandaunt Regina. No matter how often the squire hinted, Grandaunt refused to allow him a single cutting. Nevertheless, the squire persevered and made it known far and wide that his fondest wish was to have her famous roses growing in his own garden.
“To tell the truth, she is a bit anxious about them. I’ve left them too long to the gardener’s sole care” Ginny did not add that the gardener was more than qualified to tend the roses. Grandaunt felt better when one of them supervised his actions, and Ginny treasured her tranquil afternoons amongst the blooms.
Squire Barrington clucked his surprise. “You were in London? I didn’t know, didn’t know. I hadn’t realized. Well then. .”
It was amusing to see his face fall when the luckless squire realized his misfortune. Three whole weeks when he could have pilfered his own cuttings with no one the wiser! Not only was he conveying the source of this wondrous opportunity but also the instrument of its demise. Ginny could almost taste his disappointment.
“Whatever are you doing here then, and whyever were you standing, simply standing about in the road?” the squire demanded.
“I was waiting for Sir Anthony.” Ginny peered out the window, hoping to spot him.
“Crenshaw? Sir Anthony Crenshaw?” piped in Mrs. Barrington. “Why, isn’t he your aunt’s grandson? One would think we would bump into him more often, living only fifteen miles from Dunsmere as we do, but we haven’t laid an eye on him in ever so long. Is he very much changed?”
Ginny smiled at Mrs. Barrington. “If by that you mean, is he less top-lofty and stylishly dressed, no, he is not.” Ginny turned again to the window. “Oh, there he is now. Do stop.”
“Of course. We wouldn’t think of anything else,” the squire spluttered. “After all, he’s the grandson of a duke” He signaled the driver to stop and open the door for the new arrival.
Mrs. Barrington stepped over Nan and crowded to the window. “Lucinda will be so pleased. She has had to miss her very own come-out-lingering spots, you know-but to have Sir Anthony land on her very own doorstep! Well! She will have stolen a march on-” Her gush of words came to an abrupt halt.
Puzzled, Ginny followed Mrs. Barrington’s gaze out the door. In the road was a pony cart, the reins held by a chubby lad smoking a cigar. His ill-fitting clothing lent him an air of gentility in spite of the bawdy tune he was singing at the top of his lungs. It was the man stepping gingerly down from the box who claimed everyone’s profound attention. The hole in his hat was indiscernible in the dark, but the moonlight picked out every other defect in Sir Anthony’s ensemble in glaring detail.
Ginny was surprised to see the decline in Sir Anthony’s apparel. She felt sure the look of utter amazement on Mrs. Barrington’s face was for his lack of a coat of any kind, the stains on his trousers, and the scar in his Hessians. If she had known him better, she would be amazed as well by the fury in his face when he caught sight of Ginny in the carriage.
“Sir Anthony?” Squire Barrington’s voice was tremulous and unsure. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing the grandson of Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Marcross?”
Sir Anthony froze. A cool smile replaced the jaw tight with anger, and a wash of color flooded his features. “I don’t believe I have had the pleasure
of meeting you before, sir.” The polish of his reply was in jarring contrast to his appearance.
Ginny knew he must be humiliated. A part of her wanted to laugh at his plight, but her disappointment at the quick recovery of his facade overpowered the giggle in her throat. That whitelipped look of fury had brought the beginnings of a wild hope to her heart, but it had gone too quickly. If there was a true man under all that protocol, Sir Anthony would never let him out.
The squire threw a look of dismay into the carriage before rising to address Sir Anthony. “I am Squire Barrington. We have property halfway between here and Dunsmere, where we have met on more than one occasion.”
“Ah, yes, of course, I beg your pardon. It has been a long time.” Sir Anthony moved as if to lift his quizzing glass, but his grasping fingers found only air. He flicked an accusing glare at Ginny through the window. “I have reason to believe you have found my charge along the road. Would it be too much trouble to speak with her?”
“No, not at all, not at all. Just … just a moment” Squire Barrington brushed his wife away from the window and sat down, closing the door behind him. “Sir Anthony wishes to speak with you, Miss Delacourt.”
“Of course. It will just take a moment.” Ginny reached for the door but was stopped by the squire’s hand on her arm.
“Miss Delacourt, this is a delicate question, a delicate question, indeed. You wouldn’t be running off with him, would you?”
Ginny hoped she looked as shocked as she felt. “No! We .. ” She felt herself blush. “We had every reason to believe we would be home before nightfall. It has been the most dreadful afternoon. You can’t possibly know how grateful I am that you happened by”
“Oh dear, oh dear, and what if we hadn’t? We are in the middle of nowhere” Squire Barrington seemed much struck by the role he had played in Ginny’s rescue. He gave her a broad smile. “Well then, glad to be of service, aren’t we, my dear?”
Mrs. Barrington’s reply came small and indecipherable through the handkerchief she held to her nose.
“There, you see, you see, my wife agrees. Poor dear, she has suffered a bit of a shock, I fear. Yes, oh yes,” the squire said with a sad shake of his head. “The Sir Anthony we were acquainted with very little resembles the Sir Anthony of today.”
Ginny laughed. “The Sir Anthony you see very little resembles the Sir Anthony of this morning, even”
“Oh my, yes, well, a very dreadful afternoon, indeed. In that case, we should invite him up, wouldn’t you say so, my dear?”
Mrs. Barrington pressed herself into the squabs with alarm. Her eyes above the handkerchief grew very wide.
The squire’s smile faded. “Perhaps, Miss Delacourt, it would better if he sat with the driver. Very little room in here, what with your girl and all”
“I will just get out now and ask him,” Ginny managed to say. It was all she could do to keep from laughing, especially when she stepped down and faced Sir Anthony. He smiled at her as if he were dressed in knee breeches and tights, a glass of Almack’s orgeat in his hand.
“Miss Delacourt,” he purred. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Is it?” Ginny asked with a knowing smile. “It seems to me that you would much rather consign me to the devil.”
“Whatever gives you that impression?” Sir Anthony gazed at her through wide eyes, every inch himself in spite of his sad reverses in attire.
“Pray, don’t be angry. I would never have simply left. We stopped for you, after all”
“Angry? What purpose would it serve to be angry?” He forced his lips into a tight smile.
Ginny cocked her head to one side and narrowed her gaze. “I think I have caught glimpses of a true person in there somewhere. If you are lucky, one day someone shall come along and set him free.”
“That person would do better to leave well enough alone, Miss Delacourt” His voice was soft and dangerous.
“As you wish,” she said crisply. She reached for the handle to let herself back into the carriage.
“Allow me” Sir Anthony opened the carriage door and extended his arm.
When Ginny put her hand into Sir Anthony’s strong one she was very much aware of the warmth of his skin and the ease with which he assisted her up the steps. His fingers lingered on hers for a fraction longer than necessary, and Ginny gave him a questioning look.
“What is it, Miss Delacourt?”
“I… nothing. Thank you” Ginny took her seat, careful to avoid the naked curiosity in the Barringtons’ eyes.
Sir Anthony limped over to the boy on the cart, who had whiled away their exchange blowing smoke rings on his noxious cigar. For an anxious moment, Ginny thought Sir Anthony meant to leave with the boy and was relieved when he drew his ruined coat from the back of the cart. This morning she would have rathered anyone else be her traveling companion. Now, a tightness gathered in her chest at the thought of his so easily leaving her to her own devices.
With a longing look in Sir Anthony’s direction, the boy started down the road. Ginny thought he looked a trifle sour but was too startled by the fact that he wore Sir Anthony’s waistcoat to wonder why. As he watched the boy drive away, Sir Anthony looked to be feeling a trifle sour as well. With a jerk of his head, he leaped up the steps of the carriage, no small feat, considering his sore ankle.
When he placed a mangled boot inside the door, Ginny met his eyes. “Oh. I failed to mention it,” she said. “It will be necessary for you to ride with the driver.”
Sir Anthony betrayed no hint of emotion, almost as if being suffered to ride with the coachman were an everyday occurrence. “Delighted,” he said. With a bow to the occupants of the carriage, he swung himself gracefully up to the box.
Ginny settled herself into her seat, vaguely dissatisfied. Why did she have to challenge him? Now he would be more on his guard then ever, and she would never get the chance to find out if there was more to him than he allowed to show. If only she could think of a way to get him to betray his emotions ! At least they were finally on their way. She was hungry and dirty and so very tired!
She glanced at Nan, huddled in a miserable heap against the far side of the carriage. Drawing the abigail against her shoulder, she whispered, “Nan, dear, do you feel any better at all?”
“No, miss. I feel worse. Are we there yet?”
“No, dear, but soon. I will prevail upon our hosts to keep us for the night. I can get you to bed much sooner that way”
Nan did not reply, but she relaxed and her head drooped farther down Ginny’s shoulder.
“Squire and Mrs. Barrington, would it be too terribly inconvenient to put us up for the night? My abigail has caught a chill somewhere and is suffering with a fever. I hate to have her out any longer than is absolutely necessary”
“Oh, yes, well, I, ah …” Squire Barrington glanced to his wife, who still clutched the handkerchief tightly to her nose. “I don’t see why not. I daresay Sir Anthony will wash up fairly well, don’t you think? We just had a new bathing tub built into one of our closets, complete, oh, very complete with running water.” He drew his flabby stomach into his thin chest. “I shall order it filled upon our arrival.”
“Thank you.” Ginny smiled her gratitude. “I am certain you will find us both more the thing once we wash away the dust of the road”
Ginny noticed Mrs. Barrington still seemed doubtful. She removed the handkerchief from her nose long enough to say, “My, he has changed!” Then, with a little choke, she added, “My poor Lucinda!” and threw herself on her husband’s neck.
Squire Barrington consoled his wife with an awkward pat on the cheek. “There, there, my dear, it will be all right.” He gave Ginny an uncomfortable, calculating look, his wet lips twisted in uncertainty. “Miss Delacourt,” he ventured to ask, “about your roses..
Ginny thought frantically of what to say in response, but was robbed of breath when the carriage lurched and began moving at a furious pace. Sir Anthony had taken charge.
&nbs
p; Mrs. Barrington emitted a wild shriek and tossed her handkerchief into the air.
“See here, what’s going on?” Squire Barrington attempted to rise from his seat, but the carriage was traveling too fast. Grasping his cane, he beat upon the ceiling. The coachman must have received the message, for the carriage immediately slowed and came to a halt.
Soon, his grizzled head appeared in the window. “What’s toward?”
“Why, I must say, why are we going so fast?”
“The gen’lman and I were havin’ a bit of a debate. He says he could make the horses go at least fourteen miles per hour. Not on this terrain, says I. The next thing I know, he’s grabbed the reins and drivin’ your cattle hell-bent-for-leather.”
“Well, make him stop!” Mrs. Barrington had rallied.
“Yes, mum.” The coachman clapped his hat to his head and disappeared from the window. The carriage lurched and swayed with his ascent to the box, but it was some time before they were once again in motion.
Ginny tried to imagine how the interview between the driver and Sir Anthony had proceeded. She found it difficult to picture him meekly handing the reins over without a murmur. Then again, perhaps he had spent all his pent-up anger on the backs of the horses.
A crack was beginning to show in Sir Anthony’s smooth veneer, and Ginny fell to thinking of ways she could make it grow wider before his return to London on the morrow. He was Grandaunt Regina’s favorite relative-barring herself-but why? Who was the real Sir Anthony Crenshaw and how would she ever learn? She did not lack for ideas; however, one after another was discarded as being too dangerous. She sensed Sir Anthony was a loaded cannon, and she didn’t want to make herself a target. If only she could think of an idea that would keep her out of harm’s way, one with a long fuse.
By the time the party arrived at Rose Arbor, home of the Barringtons, Ginny was weary of thinking. After seeing Nan to bed and ensuring all her needs would be attended to, Ginny retired to her own room. There would be time enough for food and a bath in the morning.
Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind Page 4
