Ridiculous

by D. L. Carter

  “Shoffer! My dear duke, it has been far too long. I am so pleased to see you again.”

  Shoffer turned to find himself face to feathered headdress with Lady Holudin, one of his grandmother’s cronies, traveling underneath. He would not call Lady Holudin one of his grandmother’s friends, being that she was merely the wife of a baron, the dowager regarded her as inferior, but they were much of an age and were presented at court at the same time, which gave them a bond of sorts. She was one of the highest sticklers of the ton and well known for her biting comments. Shoffer was not pleased to see her.

  “Lady Holudin.” Shoffer bowed and extended a hand to indicate his friend. “This is Mr. Anthony North from Yorkshire.”

  Lady Holudin gave a very small nod in response to North’s bow. Instead she tucked her hand in Shoffer’s elbow and turned him about. “Come with me.” And with that she led him across the floor. Shoffer cast one apologetic glance toward his friend in time to see Mr. North roll his eyes at the flounces and lace around the hem of Lady Holudin’s gown.

  Poor North. Shoffer had intended to relieve him of a couple of those little cups once he had suffered a few minutes longer, but now he would have to manage crossing the ballroom alone and thus burdened.

  “Well, that is well done,” declared Lady Holudin in a satisfied tone. “You are well free of that mess.”

  Shoffer glanced about. He could not see anyone doing anything in particular. “My Lady?”

  Lady Holudin continued walking. “You owe me a great deal for rescuing you from that upstart. I shall hold you to that for a favor, so do not forget.”

  Shoffer’s brows drew together as a suspicion formed.

  “Madam, I have not the pleasure of understanding you.”

  She paid not a bit of attention to him, but halted where they could see Beth and the Boarder girls in the center of a group of flattering bucks. The heightened color in Beth’s cheeks and her laughter filled Shoffer’s heart with joy. This girl, this happy center of attention was his sister’s true form, not the pale and unhappy wallflower of last season.

  “Look at that,” demanded the lady, pointing with her lorgnette. “Have you ever seen the like? I have tried twice to shake your sister free of those encroaching mushrooms, but they will not be shifted. We must move quickly before your sister’s reputation is tarnished by association. They are nothing. Mere country gentry. She must not be seen to be giving consequence to such riff raff.”

  “May I take it, madam, that you have brought me here to object to my sister’s companions?” Shoffer’s voice was chill.

  “Of course! I know not what your grandmother would say if she knew your sister to be associating with those … those…”

  Shoffer pulled himself up to his full height and stared at Lady Holudin until she took a step back. “I have approved Lady Elizabeth’s association with this family. Consider, madam, that no favor is owed you.”

  And with that he turned back toward the refreshment table and almost groaned. In the few seconds his attention had been elsewhere, Mr. North had managed to get himself into more trouble.

  Chapter Nine

  At the refreshment table a group of young swells surrounded Mr. North. Their leader, his watch chain decorated with so many fobs that he rattled as he walked, had his nose so high in the air that he not so much looked down his nose at Mr. North, but rather looked at him through his bucked front teeth. The silly fop was settling snuff on the back of his glove in an affected manner and stared audaciously at North, scanning him from recently trimmed hair to polished dancing shoes. The sneer on his lips intensified as he took in the collar points that barely reached midway up Mr. North’s neck, unlike these pinks of fashion who currently could not look from side to side lest they put out their own eyes. Likewise, he disapproved of Mr. North’s loosely fitting clothing and the overly baggy pantaloons.

  From the slight smile turning up the corners of Mr. North’s lips, Shoffer knew that this group appealed to his sense of the absurd, but it would not do his cousins or his case good to offer offense to these overly decorated idiots. They were bachelors of good families after all and someone might want to marry them.

  Dodging through the suddenly crowded room, Shoffer headed for the refreshment table to rescue his friend. The orchestra played the last bars of a waltz, then stopped, allowing Shoffer and most of the surrounding guests to hear the conversation.

  “Good God, sir,” drawled the fop. “Does your tailor hate you?”

  “I should hardly think so,” said Mr. North. “As he has been generously paid, I assume he holds me in some esteem.”

  This statement only seemed to confuse the crowd.

  “Your coat is a disgrace,” declared the fop. “You have no fashion at all! I am shocked, shocked that you should have the gall to appear in public before acquiring some polish.”

  Mr. North shrugged.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Do not answer. Wait,” muttered Shoffer, as he dodged behind a dowager with a badly dyed wig.

  With a half bow his friend replied. “I am Mr. Anthony North of Yorkshire.”

  “Yooooooorkshire,” with a glance over his shoulder to his snickering cronies the fop scanned Mr. North’s attire a second time. “I see that they have no style in Yooooooorkshire. You must be very grateful to have reached the center of civilization, London, and be eager to learn our fashions.”

  Shoffer ducked past a footman, almost upsetting his tray and reached the other side of the table in time to hear Mr. North’s reply.

  “Indeed, sir, I am. When we leave our mud and wattle huts, up in uncivilized Yorkshire, and go about barefoot in the muck, why we find it very cold and uncomfortable. Imagine my surprise to discover that Londoners have invented these things called ‘shoes.’” Mr. North peered down at his footwear. “Why, as I go about the streets with my feet warm and dry I cannot but be grateful for the invention. I do commend them to you, sir.”

  Shoffer halted, his hands resting on the table and lowered his head. He should have had more faith in his friend. There was a round of titters from the listeners and the fop preened, not realizing that the laughter was at his expense. Shoffer glanced up again and his stomach clenched. Both he and the fop caught sight of an elegantly attired man at the same moment.

  “I say, Brummel. Come tell us what you think of this man’s cravat?” cried the fop.

  The Beau halted, offended at being hailed in that familiar manner, but came across.

  Brummel! Shoffer smothered a groan. Why did it have to be Brummel? That posturing poser could ruin a man’s reputation with a careless shrug. Before Shoffer could intercede and freeze Brummel into retreat, Mr. North had turned already to face this new threat.

  Lemonade cups still in hand, Mr. North first reared back in shock, then leaned forward to minutely study Brummel’s elaborate neck cloth while Shoffer almost swallowed his tongue.

  “Oh, I am awestruck,” cried North before any other could speak. “I know what my cravat looks like. It looks like a one-armed, blind, drunken sailor was struck with a seizure while trying to fit me for a noose before he fell down dead. Which is in truth what happened. Out of sympathy for the fellow’s memory, I left my cravat just as he made it. But you, sir. You… Surely a flock of angels descended from heaven, and dancing to a celestial choir, wound themselves around your person, draping the silk in folds at the direction of God Himself. And once done they fell to earth weeping, for surely in all of God’s creation, nothing will ever be as perfect as your cravat.”

  Shoffer’s fingers tightened, gripping the tablecloth as the Beau examined Mr. North through his quizzing glass. Then to everyone’s surprise, he laughed.

  “Why, yes, that is in truth exactly what happened. I commend your perception.” The Beau made a graceful leg. “And who might you be?”

  “This,” declared the fop, “is Mister North from Yooooooorkshire.”

  He grinned, fully expecting to witness one of the Beau’s famous set downs, but i
nstead North and Beau exchanged nods and smiles.

  “My honor, sir,” said North.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. North,” said the Beau, then he wandered away.

  After a moment the fop wandered off as well to try, vainly, to report the exchange for in truth he had not understood it. But the Beau had laughed. Surely, if he repeated the tale he would gain laughs as well. He did, but not for the reason he supposed.

  “Dear God, I thought my heart would stop,” declared Shoffer coming around the table.

  “I as well,” said North. “One of the cups started to tip and I feared I would be wearing lemonade for the rest of the evening. Be a good fellow, Shoffer, and take a couple of these. I cannot manage.”

  “North?” Shoffer worked two cups free of the gloves. “You do realize what just happened? Do you know to whom you were speaking?”

  North raised his eyes to the duke’s and for a moment there was an expression of genuine puzzlement, but it did not last long. A broad grin overspread North’s face and lit his brown eyes with mischief.

  “Oh, yes. Of course, I know. That nit does not have enough wit to realize he’s been insulted.”

  “No. The other one. Beau? Beau Brummel. He was not expected or else I should have warned you. He can be quite withering.”

  Mr. North shrugged. “He seemed perfectly pleasant to me.”

  “Do you have any idea how close you came to social disaster?”

  “No.” After another moment of blank staring, he flashed Shoffer a dazzling grin. Turning, North started off across the ballroom, Shoffer trailing in his wake. “Yes, of course I did. I am not so much a fool as I pretend. Fortunately, the Beau has a sense of humor.”

  Shoffer grinned at his sister as he handed over a small cup of lemonade. The ladies accepted the refreshments politely, though they had no need of it. The Boarder ladies and Lady Elizabeth were surrounded by young men competing to hold their fans, fetch drinks, and otherwise entertain them.

  After examining his sister’s dance card and approving it, Shoffer retreated. Lady Edith and Mrs. Boarder had the situation well in hand. After checking that his cousins were happy, Mr. North rejoined him.

  “Well, Shoffer, it appears we are not needed. Come, it is time we did our duty by the wallflowers.”

  “Again?” Shoffer paused, then stared at his friend. “I was about to suggest we retreat to the smoking room.”

  “Never. Do you tell me you do not like to dance, Shoffer?”

  “I like it well enough.”

  “Excellent.” North took him by the sleeve and drew him through the crowd. It was turning into a veritable crush, which would please their hostess, but made navigation difficult.

  “North, what are you about?” demanded Shoffer.

  North cast a grin over his shoulder.

  “The truth of the matter is I love to dance. One of the many advantages of being male, Your Grace, is that when I wish to dance I need only ask. But a lady? She must wait to be asked. And wait and wait and wait. Do not imagine that if you grant a wallflower one dance, she will expect to receive an offer. We can dance quite safely.”

  With that Mr. North came to a halt before a cluster of stunned wallflowers. There was not a one in the group that Shoffer recognized; although, by their ages it was possible that it was a third or fourth season for some of them.

  “Ladies.” Mr. North made a graceful bow. “I come seeking a dance partner. I promise to step on your toes not more than twice. Would anyone care to do me the honor?”

  “This is hardly proper, my friend,” said Shoffer. “You have not been introduced.”

  “Oh, we know who he is,” said a rather spindly, red-haired girl with a regrettable number of freckles over her face and décolletage, and she waved her fan in a gentle curve like a cat’s tail. “He is Mr. North of the cats.”

  The other young ladies giggled and imitated the move.

  “My reputation precedes me. And do you know this tall fellow with me?”

  There was a chorus of “Your Grace” and another wave of curtsies.

  “Well, then, who shall volunteer to be steered about the room?”

  Despite the haphazard manner of the invitation, it was accepted with enthusiasm. Shoffer bowed and accepted his fate. It was not until three dances later, as he stood side by side with Mr. North awaiting the beginning of a quadrille that he realized he was enjoying himself.

  The wallflowers, one and all, were so grateful to be granted some small portion of his time and consequence that he was almost embarrassed by the thanks he received. Indeed, if not for Mr. North he would have quit the ballroom, but there he remained as one after another young lady promenaded down the dance on his gloved hand.

  They were standing side by side waiting for a jig to begin when Shoffer gasped and seized North’s arm in a grip so tight the man cried out.

  “Shoffer? What?”

  “Do you see?” demanded Shoffer. “Look, that is Brummel heading toward Beth. Damn it, North, what if again she is struck dumb?”

  Shoffer was about to commit the extreme social faux pas of leaving a dance in progress and charging across the room to his sister’s side when North gripped his arm and held him back.

  “Stop, Shoffer. Think and wait. It will do your sister’s confidence no good to have you embarrass her this way.”

  “But…”

  “She will think you do not trust her to be able to deal with one overdressed poseur.”

  North’s grip was as strong as wilted celery, but the glare he directed toward Shoffer held him pinned in place. Helpless, he watched as the Beau was presented to his sister and her friends by their hostess. There was an exchange of words that they were too far away to hear; then the Beau bowed, and said something to Beth which set her laughing and waving her fan sinuously through the air. The conversation continued for a few moments; the Beau laughed at some comment of Beth’s and all conversation died across the room.

  The Boarder sisters made a few observations which were well received by Brummel; then it was over. The Beau, still smiling, bowed over Beth’s hand, nodded to the Boarder family, and took himself away. A corridor opened before him permitting him to leave the room unmolested and then the noise level of the room rose as the gossip resumed. As soon as the Beau had vanished, the crowd of men about Beth doubled in size.

  North nudged Shoffer’s arm, directing his attention to his partner and the ongoing dance. Shoffer granted the débutante a dazzling smile and took her arm even as joy bubbled in his heart.

  Her rank gave Beth a place in society. Mr. North’s nonsense gave her confidence and conversation, but the Beau’s bow had brought her into fashion.

  Beth’s success this season was achieved.

  Never in his life had he felt more like dancing. As they passed each other in the dance, Shoffer and Mr. North exchanged matching proud smiles.

  * * *

  It was midday before Millicent made her way downstairs the next day. Mildred and Maude were before her, for a miracle. Waves of feminine laughter drew Millicent to the formal parlor. Pausing at the door Millicent peered in. Beth was there, which raised her eyebrows, and was helping Mildred and Maude read the notes that accompanied the masses of flowers filling the room.

  “Great God,” said Millicent, “What is a forest doing in here? Shall I summon the gardeners to beat back these overgrown shrubs? Do we need a gang of servants to slice a way through the jungle?”

  She wandered into the room, picked up a nosegay, and inhaled the fragrance.

  “Is not this wonderful?” cried Maude, waving toward the banks of flowers. “All these on this side of the room are mine.”

  Mildred paused and selected a few blossoms from one arrangement and placed them into a vase. “These are mine, but they could have been better presented.”

  “And to what do we owe the honor of your appearance here this morning, Lady Beth?” asked Millicent.

  Beth laughed, her eyes brilliant and dancing. “Oh, I could not
sleep and I was awake when my own flowers were delivered. If you can believe it, I have just as many at home as your cousins…”

  “And you came over here to crow about your achievement?” Millicent mock scowled at her. “Proud infant. How unkind.”

  “No. No. I finished my thank you letters and wanted to come over and advise Mildred and Maude on the phrasing of theirs. That was one thing that Grand’Mere taught me well. How to write exact letters.”

  Millicent tried vainly to raise one eyebrow, an exercise that never failed to send her sisters into giggles. “Exact letters?”

  “Oh, you know, how to use the exact phrase to suppress pretensions and what to write when you want to encourage someone.”

  “Well, be careful in your writing, ladies, for if we have as many dandies as you have flower arrangements come into our parlor, our floor will surely crack under the weight.”

  “Do not fuss,” said Mildred calmly. “We shan’t have that many callers. It is not as if anyone knows where we live. We are not exactly well known about town.”

  “Mildred, dear,” said Millicent patiently. “They must know in order to send the flowers. Do not worry, your admirers shall find you. As for you, Lady Beth, should you not be on your way home? You do not want your own tribe of poetry writers to be disappointed when they come to worship at your feet and find you gone.”

  “Oh, phoo. There was no one last night I wanted to encourage.”

  Again, it occurred to Millicent that Beth was a trifle young for the marriage mart. Then she noticed the intent and adoring look on Beth’s face directed toward herself; her heart chilled and she backed out of the room.

  “Well, enjoy yourselves, ladies, I shall be out and about doing … things and will not be home until late.”

  “Oh, no,” cried Beth, reaching out to Millicent. “You must be here. I shan’t know what to say if you are not.”

  Millicent dodged, seizing her hat and gloves from a waiting footman, and backed toward the door.

  “Mildred and Maude will be here to aid you. Besides, the gentlemen will be doing much of the talking. I would not be surprised if there were a sonnet or two already composed to your eyes.”