Miss Quinn's Quandary

by Shirley Marks

  “Of course I shall, Uncle. You know all you need do is ask.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” Rushton smiled and clapped his nephew on the back. “Always have. You will, of course, attend to the social obligations I have already accepted in my absence.”

  “Of course,” he agreed. Rushton gave a great roar of laughter, exuding happiness beyond belief and pranced out of the drawing room. Randall had never seen his uncle so happy. His uncle knew Randall would have promised him anything. And what more could there be after taking on the responsibility of watching over Larissa?

  It was a momentous undertaking, and perhaps one that only Randall could comprehend. He’d need to keep careful watch on her and on her unrestricted mouth. Those lovely lips could spout the deepest of lies. They could also curl into the most sumptuous of smiles and lay waste to a man’s willpower with a single kiss.

  Kiss?

  He shook the image from his head. What was he thinking? He had Dorothea to consider. What would she think if he spent so much time playing chaperone to this brat?

  From out of nowhere Laurie appeared. “It was his lordship’s wish I remind you of the approaching events he has informed me you are to attend in his absence.”

  Randall sighed. There was no escape. He had Larissa to watch over and his uncle’s social commitments to keep. In Rushton’s absence, the butler would see to it Randall attended.

  “All right, Laurie, I’m listening,” Randall gave in.

  “May I remind you that only a fortnight of the Season remains, sir.”

  “Thank you, I shall keep that in mind.” That didn’t make the burden any easier to bear.

  “Tomorrow evening, there is a soiree at Lord and Lady Pringle’s. The following afternoon at three, the Earl of Westmont is holding a Water Party. That evening, of course, his lordship has vouchers to Almacks.”

  Randall would have done anything for his uncle. Anything but… “I’m not stepping one foot inside that place. I’ve had enough of its giggling girls and meddlesome marriage mamas to last me years on end. I don’t care what Uncle Cyrus says, I’ll not be attending that melee.”

  “My lord understands your dislike of the public assembly and has expressed that you need not attend if you do not wish,” the butler replied without reacting to Randall’s emotional rebuff.

  “Oh? Well.” Randall felt a bit embarrassed at his outburst, but quickly composed himself. “Then I do not wish to attend.”

  The social engagements would last only until tomorrow. After that, the chaperone would arrive and Randall’s responsibility to Larissa would be over.

  If nothing else, there was an end in sight.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Larissa awoke from her afternoon rest, the townhouse that had at first felt so welcoming when she arrived by her aunt’s side seemed strange and intimidating.

  She would prefer to be all alone than alone with Sir Randall.

  Where was Sir Randall? Larissa moved down the main hall, her sweeping gaze alert for his evidence.

  “May I be of assistance, Miss?”

  Larissa gasped and spun around. She clutched her throat in fright. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Laurie, is it not?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “I was wondering if Sir Randall was about.”

  “No, miss. Sir Randall has gone out.” The news was music to her ears. “Shall I have Mrs. Drum bring tea into the parlor?”

  “Yes, Laurie. That would be quite nice.”

  Larissa settled onto the sofa in the front parlor, followed minutes later by the swift-moving Mrs. Drum, the housekeeper, who, to all appearances, lived up to her name. The woman was round, wide, and the top of her hat was flat.

  “It’s so splendid to have ladies about the house.” Mrs. Drum set out a plate and napkin for Larissa and poured a cup of tea. “Since the first Countess of Rushton passed on, there have not been any ladies in the house.” She rattled on, “His lordship had hardly spent any time in Town at all.”

  Larissa had passed the cakes and opted for tea only. She was grateful for the housekeeper’s talkative nature, for it kept her from feeling so alone. Larissa suspected that was one of the reasons the earl kept her.

  “Now, not only has his lordship come to stay with his nephew, but there are two ladies about. Not to mention a new countess!”

  “And may I say that no one is more pleased than I.” It was Sir Randall’s baritone that interrupted the coze.

  Larissa’s cup skittered on its saucer, clinking about in the most horrific manner.

  “Will you be having tea, Sir Randall?” Mrs. Drum had a cup ready for him.

  “Please, Mrs. Drum.”

  Larissa hadn’t heard Sir Randall enter the room, much less climb the stairs. She really needed to pay closer attention to the goings-on around her.

  “Are you quite well?” he asked Larissa. She had hoped he hadn’t noticed her nervousness with the china when he entered.

  “Yes, thank you. Quite,” she replied in a curt manner. “Quite well. Why ever would you think not?”

  With tea in hand, Sir Randall sat in the adjacent chair. “If I may hazard a guess.” He regarded her from beneath a raised brow. “I should say you feel quite peculiar about sneaking up on me last night at Vauxhall Gardens.”

  Larissa took great offense at his reminder of such an indiscretion. “I did not sneak up on you. I’ve already explained that it was a mistake.”

  “As you say, then. However, if you are having second thoughts about us.” He smiled, teasing.

  “Us?” Larissa repeated in alarm. Larissa sincerely hoped he was teasing. “There is no us to consider.”

  “All alone in this big house.” Sir Randall’s gaze roamed about the expansive room. “Perhaps it is I who should be wary of being alone with you. After all, you were the one who—”

  “Please, Sir Randall. Pray you forget any notion of that sort. As you well know, I only seek the attentions of Lord Fenton,” she said in hauteur.

  “And I, as you well know, only seek the attentions of Lady Dorothea. After spending a good portion of the afternoon in her company, I can assure you she has my complete attention. So there is nothing at all to worry about, is there?”

  “No, I suppose there isn’t. We do understand one another then?”

  “Perfectly.”

  With that Larissa felt confident enough to relax and break into a smile. “Good.”

  At the Pringles’ soiree that night, Larissa left the green parlor on the arm of Lord Fenton. She erupted into one spasm after another of laughter, knowing full well such a display was not considered the proper demeanor of a lady. Lord Fenton was not the least bit helpful with regaining her composure. He roared in hysterics, causing her to continue despite the disapproving glances from the other guests. It was just outside the parlor when they happened upon Sir Randall, who took particular notice of their joyous condition. The laughter was contagious, Larissa noticed, causing a smile to erupt on Sir Randall’s normally somber face.

  “May I ask what you find so humorous?”

  “Sir Randall,” Lord Fenton managed, catching his breath and slowly exhaled. “We had the most delightful time playing a parlor game.”

  “A game?”

  “Was it ‘Questions and Commands’ or ‘Cross Purposes and Crooked Answers’ we were playing?”

  “‘Cross Purposes and Crooked Answers,”’ Larissa confirmed.

  “One thinks of games as being for children. But, I say, when played with a dozen or so adults it is ripping good fun. Was it not?”

  “Very.” Larissa wiped the remaining tears from her eyes.

  “I think I’ve hurt myself, laughing so hard.” Lord Fenton ran his hand down his green-striped waistcoat and patted his midsection.

  “That is a shame,” Sir Randall replied. He did not sound the least bit sorry.

  “Do let me fetch some lemonade for us,” Lord Fenton offered.

  “Would you?” Larissa gave Lord Fenton an adoring g
aze. “I would be ever so grateful.”

  “Would you mind, Sir Randall, keeping an eye on Miss Larissa?”

  “I can hardly refuse,” he said with a smile.

  “I shall be back in a thrice, then.” Lord Fenton paddled out of the room.

  And after Lord Fenton had left Sir Randall mumbled, “I have already promised to do as much.”

  Larissa felt quite at ease, even in Sir Randall’s company.

  “Are you having a pleasant evening?” Sir Randall queried in ever so nice a tone, one that Larissa had never before heard directed at her.

  “Yes, very. And you, Sir Randall? How goes it with you?”

  “It goes very well, thank you,” he said in satisfaction.

  “I’m sure you have Lady Dorothea to thank, surely, not me.” His smile reassured her she was correct on both counts. “By the bye, where is Lady Dorothea?”

  “Have no fear, she shall return momentarily.”

  They stood quietly for a moment. “Isn’t life funny, Sir Randall?” Larissa prattled on, encompassing the concept of grander schemes.

  “In what way is that, pray tell?”

  “You and I for example.” She took his bewildered expression as the perfect reason to continue. “Consider the way we met and our unusual acquaintance. One would think we would be at daggers drawn. But just look at us.” She gestured to their elegant, peaceful surroundings. “Here we stand, now related, albeit only just recently, behaving quite civilly, near to genuine affection, I should think, and resting in the boughs of another. Not with one another, you understand,” she clarified.

  “Of course.” A shallow nod forgave her verbal faux pas. “Are you taken with Lord Fenton?”

  “Why, of course I am,” she stated, insulted that he should even ask. Wasn’t it obvious? “He is like none other.”

  “I do believe you have the right of it.”

  “And Lady Dorothea?”

  Sir Randall smiled. “I believe she is without equal.”

  Larissa sensed affection in his voice. He did care for Lady Dorothea.

  “Miss Quinn, Sir Randall,” Sir Thomas White acknowledged the pair when he stepped between them in the midst of his jaunt across the room. Dressed in evening finery, Sir Thomas paused and made a hasty but elegant leg.

  “Sir Thomas,” Larissa and Sir Randall chorused.

  “A pleasant evening to you both,” was his gracious reply before he continued on his way.

  “My,” Larissa sighed. “He was in a hurry.”

  “Apparently,” Sir Randall drawled.

  “I say,” Lord Fenton exclaimed, lifting his arms to hold the lemonade glasses out of the hazardous path of the retreating Sir Thomas, avoiding a near miss. “Let’s do find somewhere to sit. Such a crush, don’t you know. It would be such a shame if this should spill onto that fine frock of yours.” He and Larissa left Sir Randall and found a place to sit.

  A few moments later, Lady Dorothea returned to Randall’s side. Randall felt his heart begin to pound at the sight of her. He could not get over Dorothea’s ethereal presence. She seemed to float on air, her steps were so light.

  “The heat is becoming quite unbearable.” She opened her fan and coaxed the air to move. “Would you mind if we took a turn about the garden?”

  “Not at all.” Randall led her through the crowded room to the rear gardens. The air was cool and fresh. From high above, the moon surrounded them with a dim pool of moonlight.

  Dorothea stopped and turned to face Randall. Her arms were bare and she allowed the fan to dangle from her wrist.

  “Where are your gloves?” Randall looked to either side of her.

  “It is so very warm. I just want them off for a moment.”

  “Where are they? Where did you put them?” Randall moved her skirts, causing his hands to brush about her legs. Something was still not right.

  She let out a laugh that was more like a string of musical notes. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to discern where you’ve placed your gloves. Either you dabble in magic or you’ve a concealed pocket.”

  Dorothea trailed the tip of her finger along his jaw to his chin and gave him a playful smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She spun, taking a step away from him and placed her fan between them. Drawing it open, she allowed Randall time to study the lowering of her full lashes and the pursing of her delicious lips. “Randall. May I be so bold as to call you Randall?”

  “Nothing would make me happier,” he said. Those brilliant blue eyes looked up at him. Her lips widened into a breathtaking smile.

  “Nothing?” Her eyebrows lifted. “I did have one other thought that might please you.”

  “Really?” There was almost nothing he could deny her when she displayed that enchanting smile. He felt as if he were under a magic spell she wove by moonlight. “And what would that be?”

  “We do rub along well together, don’t you think?”

  “Exceedingly well,” he said, still studying her tempting mouth and taking her hand. As the days passed, he was spending more and more time with Dorothea. And more and more he enjoyed her company.

  “Then you will speak to Maman about paying your addresses, then?”

  He was beginning to think along the lines of marriage himself. And Dorothea was the lady he had in mind. Although he did not yet feel quite ready to take the step, he did not object to her raising the subject.

  “I would not be averse to speaking to your mother about you.” A grin crept over Randall’s lips and he placed a lingering kiss upon her bare hand. “I will do so at the most opportune moment.”

  If the night at Vauxhall Gardens did not gain her Fenton’s kiss, Larissa wondered if tonight would. She felt hesitant about making a second attempt, since the results of the first had not been exactly what she had planned.

  She scanned the room for Sir Randall. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of last night—not that she did not enjoy kissing him. It was she who had initiated the kiss, to be sure. For the few seconds it had lasted, it seemed to her Sir Randall had returned the kiss, thus encouraging her. But of course she could be wrong. Knowing the way he felt about her, why on earth would he want to encourage her?

  Larissa felt that Lord Fenton was by far more appealing than the previous three gentlemen she had met during the Season-Mr. Wesley Tyson, the Right Honorable Robert Egerton, or Mr. Donald Sinclair. Those men she had not wanted to kiss, she did not feel for them as she did for Lord Fenton. After taking his arm, they strolled out in the small garden. He slowed their pace to nearly a standstill.

  “You look most becoming when put to the blush, Miss Larissa.”

  She raised her hand to her cheek. “Am I blushing?” Little did Fenton know it was Sir Randall of whom she thought, and the similar circumstances of the previous night gave rise to her color. It was her ardent hope that when Fenton held her she would not think of Sir Randall.

  Lord Fenton’s hand tightened over hers in silent communication, telling her not to flee—the moment was close at hand. A silent breeze ruffled a lock of hair on his forehead. It gave the slightest rakishness to his otherwise perfect appearance.

  As they reached the farthest point in the garden behind the Pringles’ townhouse, they stopped. “I hope to tell you how I feel about you, Miss Larissa,” he said. He drew her into his arms and Larissa leaned into him, hoping he would be a man, take the lead, and continue.

  Lord Fenton took hold of Larissa’s forearm and turned it gently behind her back, propelling her closer to him. His long finger trailed from her chin along her jaw and he took his time to study her face before their long-anticipated kiss. But he did not kiss her.

  This was not Larissa’s only disappointment. Where was the melting she expected to carry her away? The tingling sensations that coursed through her body?

  Fenton said something, but Larissa hadn’t been listening. She felt confused, too distracted by what she was not feeling.

  “It’s all right, then?” She heard him
say.

  “Oh, yes,” Larissa replied. “Of course.” She didn’t know to what Fenton referred. Concentrating on more important matters, she still did not understand what had gone wrong.

  Once again, Lord Fenton settled Larissa’s hand in the crook of his arm and again placed his hand protectively over the top of hers, continuing their stroll to the house.

  Larissa sat at her dressing table, brushed her hair and looked into the glass, oblivious of her reflection. The soiree had been splendid. She adored Lord Fenton, but he did not kiss her as she had wished and on the whole left her feeling less than warm. She replaced her brush on the table and slid into bed. Laying her head on the pillow, she continued to ponder the aftereffects of Fenton’s show of affection.

  She closed her eyes, praying sleep would carry her into a glorious dream filled with blissful embraces and smoldering kisses. Instead, she lay awake with every indication sleep would not overtake her soon.

  Larissa threw back the covers as a restless feeling urged her to her feet. She needed answers to the questions that continued to plague her. Donning her wrapper, Larissa left her room and went below stairs. She peered into the library. There, facing the blazing hearth, sat Sir Randall.

  “I do beg your pardon.” Larissa stood at the doorway. “Please forgive my appearance.” She glanced down at herself and clutched the front of her garment, holding it close.

  The sight of her undress did not bother him. He had seen her this way, and in far more intimate surroundings. Randall couldn’t help but think of the night that threw them together. He then reminded himself he was to watch out for her, not watch her.

  “I fear I am having difficulty falling asleep. I thought I might come down for something to read,” she said. She was reserved and shy, like the Larissa he had once known, the young woman he knew before London. “As you are here, perhaps I might speak to you a moment.”

  “Why, yes of course,” he replied. What could possibly be of so grave a matter? Larissa appeared agitated, a state Randall had not seen before. He grew curious.