by Joan Smith
The matter required some deep thinking, but she did make one decision. She would allow Griffin to call as often as he wished during the next three weeks. He was not so frightening as she had feared. She would allow him to take her out for drives, and she would stand up with him at all the balls. And if he succeeded in winning her back— well, Dunny had agreed to give Griffin a chance, so he could not complain.
When Alice saw the ladies throwing themselves at Griffin, she knew she hadn't a chance in the world with him, even if Myra turned him off. He had practically promised he would have the next set with her, but he could not escape the throng. It was disgusting to see them all making fools of themselves. How Griffin must be laughing behind their backs—except that he was probably flattered to death. She knew instinctively that her chances would be better in the country. If she could lure Griffin to Mersham, and get Mama to go back to Newbold Hall, she might yet win him.
As Griffin had not learned the waltz, the next set of waltzes was postponed. In their stead, Griffin showed the ladies how to perform a tribal dance picked up from the Tabajo Indians. Since the orchestra did not know this alien music, Griffin chanted out the tune, and soon the most sophisticated set of adults in England were running around in circles, lifting their knees high and uttering sounds not usually heard outside of a children's school yard.
It was nearly time for the midnight dinner. Myra had said Griffin was going to join her and Dunny for dinner, and Alice meant to sit with them. There was just one more set, then dinner. Looking toward the dance floor, she saw Griffin shaking his head and laughing, as Miss Sutton tried to entice him to have the waltz with her. Of course, Griffin did not know how to waltz. The dance had not been in fashion when he left. He would sit this set out! Alice lurked around the edge of the floor, and when he escaped, she was waiting for him.
“Help!” he said. “Where can I hide? I am being hunted by a party of crazed lady waltzers."
“Follow me.” Alice scooted down the hallway. Her plan was to stay in the library with Griffin until dinnertime. It was occupied by a few elderly couples who neither danced nor enjoyed cards. “We should be safe here,” she said.
“You underestimate the huntresses. Miss Sutton has already suggested I join her in the library, as I do not waltz.” He saw a door at the end of the hall and asked where it led.
“Out to a little garden."
“Excellent. I shall be back for dinner. We still have not had our dance, Alice. There is something I most particularly want to discuss with you."
“Me?” she asked, flattered.
“You are the only one who can help me."
Her heart took flight, and her foolish imagination soared to unimagined heights. He realized he did not love Myra. All the huntresses had given him a disgust of beautiful ladies. In short, he loved her, and wished to make a declaration.
“I'll go with you now,” she said promptly.
“Leave the ball with a gent? Aren't you the racy thing, you young limb of the devil."
“We are old friends. You are practically my brother-in-law,” she said, peering for his reaction.
He considered this a moment, then said, “Let us go then, before someone sees us."
They went down the hall and out the door into a small garden, enclosed by yews. The nominal garden consisted of a cement apron holding two stone flowerpots and flanked by one laurel tree. There was an uncomfortable stone bench and a small table. The night was still and pleasantly fresh after the turmoil of the ballroom. A pearly white moon floated in the black void of space, surrounded by a sprinkle of diamond stars.
“How can I help you, Griffin?” she asked in a voice trying to sound romantic.
“Do you have a cold, brat? Your voice sounds hoarse. Perhaps we should go back inside."
“I am fine,” she said curtly.
Griffin stood with his hands behind his back, gazing up at the moon. “Tell me about her,” he said. “I mean about her and Dunsmore. She cannot love him."
Alice's soaring hopes plunged to earth and crashed. She sunk onto the edge of the stone bench. Her. He had not even used Myra's name. There was only one woman where Griffin was concerned. Alice damped down the urge to tell him Myra was not good enough for him. She only wanted a life of ease and privilege. She lacked the daring to go off to Brazil. But really he must know what she was like, in his deepest heart. He knew it, and he still loved her. Alice would do as she always did; she would tell him the truth.
“I think she does love him. People say he is quite clever, you know, about the Corn Laws and things."
“He keeps his cleverness on a tight rein. I saw no sign of it."
“He's afraid of you.” Griffin smiled. “I never said he was brave. He's sensitive. Myra likes that in a man. You were gone five years, Griffin. She used to talk about you all the time at first, and spend hours writing letters. But when years went by without an answer..."
“I didn't get those letters. I answered all the ones I received. It was impossible to communicate from the Amazon. I thought she would realize that."
“But five years!"
“What's past is prologue. Does she not love me at all? Has she forgotten all we meant to each other? I cannot believe it."
She heard the pain beneath the words. His bronzed face looked pale in the moonlight. Pale, and vulnerable. If Alice could have waved a magic wand, she would have made Myra love him. “She thought you were dead, Griffin. Now that you are back, maybe you can make her love you again,” she said in a small voice.
“I must!” he said, his jaw firming. “And you must help me, Alice. You are her sister, closer to her than anyone. What can I do to make her love me as she did before?"
“She does not like anything too—different,” she said, not satisfied with the vague word. Griffin's hand went to his earring. “Not that. That is rather picaresque. I daresay it will set a new fad. At least I heard a few bucks wondering where they could get one. I meant she was terrified when Mr. Barnaby said your face was black and you were carrying a spear, and someone mentioned an orangutan."
“Ignoramuses. There are no orangutans in Brazil. It was a harmless little monkey.” He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I knew this dark skin would be my undoing. It will fade eventually, but meanwhile I cannot bleach it. What can I do?"
“She loved you once. Behave as you did before. Don't frighten her. Don't talk loud or argue. Myra likes to be comfortable."
“Yes, her gentle disposition never could tolerate any wrangling. I have brought back an incredibly beautiful orchid. It is pure white, with a blush of pink at the heart. A rare and lovely thing. I thought of her when I first espied it. I mean to cultivate it and call it after her."
Alice felt a wicked stab of jealousy. “She'll like that,” she said. “That sort of thing pleases her. Flowers and poetry—sensitive things."
“I am no poet, but I hope I am as sensitive as Dunsmore."
“The orchid will do as well. He isn't really sensitive, just squeamish."
“I shall tread softly, as you suggest. I daresay that means I must not call Dunsmore out. Pity. That would be the easiest solution."
“You must not even think such a thing, Griffin."
“I was teasing, brat,” he laughed.
“I wish you would not call me that. I am all grown up now."
“And a fine job you and Mother Nature have done of it. I am impressed,” he said, but she knew by his voice it was mere duty speaking.
“Does Dunsmore write her poems?” he asked.
“No, they read poems together. Mostly she reads, and he praises her."
“I can listen and praise,” he said, frowning at such a lackluster way of winning a bride. “What I should like to do is write up my Brazilian experiences for the journals and dedicate them to Myra. I have made copious notes and drawings for articles for the scientific societies, but I think something of a more general nature for the public at large might go off well, too. A book of essay, perhaps."
“She would like that."
When he did not reply, Alice sensed he was ready to speak of other things now, and she was curious to hear about his adventures. “What was it like in Brazil, Griffin? Did you really see pygmies?"
“See them? I lived with them. You cannot possibly imagine what it is like there, Alice. I have had such incredible adventures, no one would believe the half of them. I have plowed through steaming jungles, and killed wild boar with a spear."
“Did you kill lions and tigers?"
“There is no large game in Brazil—well, the tapir, a sort of cross between a wild boar and a rhinoceros. I saw one in the selva, but it got away. I have dined in Rio with Dom John and his court, off silver plates, and eaten alligator with my fingers around a fire with two dozen native Indians who spoke not a word of either English or Portuguese. I have watched macumba at work—there is a book in itself."
“What is macumba?"
“Black magic, I suppose you would call it. An African religion. They call it candomblé in Bahia, where it is particularly rife. I have dug for diamonds—"
“Did you bring home a trunkful? Someone said so."
“No, I had no luck, but I bought a few before leaving Rio de Janeiro. I plan to have the finest one made into a ring for Myra."
“That sounds lovely,” Alice said dutifully. “What other experiences have you had, Griffin?"
“I was bitten by some insect and got a terrible infection shortly after I left Rio. It happened on board ship on the Parana River. The infection was debilitating, and you can imagine the sort of medical help there was available. I was literally at death's door. I thought I would never see her again."
“Tell her that—but don't talk too much about the infection. Just say you were at death's door, and all you could think was that you would never see her again."
“That was not all I thought. I also thought that Monty would take over Mersham, as he has. I must make a dart home and take care of that. I have had my man of business write him that I am back."
“You will be going home soon then?” she asked eagerly.
“For a quick visit, yes. I dare not leave Myra alone with Dunsmore. Why did she choose him? Other than being a duke, he hasn't much to offer. Or do the ladies see something that I do not?"
“Oh, he is all right,” Alice said, searching in vain for one real attribute to bolster her claim. “He is very considerate,” she said, after a moment's pause. “How did you get cured of your infection? Did you not take basilicum and things with you?"
“I did, but my medicine trunk got thrown overboard in a storm. It hardly mattered. The medications proved ineffectual with the strange new diseases there. It was a primitive medicine man who saved my life with some native herbs. I was too weak to walk for months."
“You should have come home as soon as you could walk,” she said.
“Perhaps I should have, but the plant life there! It was astonishing. I brought back wagon loads of specimens. I am sharing them with the botanists in London. I am also eager to get to Mersham and begin cultivating them."
“When will you be going home?"
“That depends on my luck in detaching my fiancée from Dunsmore,” he said. “And now I shall take you in, or I shall have your mama accusing me of depraving her daughter.” His laughing voice said more clearly than words that such a thing had never entered his mind.
They returned, and soon it was time for dinner. Myra was heady with pride at the attention she received as she sat with the two prime parties of the Season flanking her. She doled out her conversation equally to the gentleman on either side, and graciously agreed that as she was engaged to them both, she could have a second dance with both after dinner without offending the proprieties. Alice did not have her dance with Griffin after all, but she did receive one crumb of consolation.
Before they left he said, “Do you know this lascivious new waltz that is all the craze, Sal?"
“Of course. I have had permission from the patronesses of Almack's to do it. Do you take me for a flat?"
“Not you! Will you teach me how to do it?"
She was delighted at the opportunity to be alone with him, but had to wonder why he did not ask Myra to teach him. When she put the question to him, he replied, “I am afraid I would walk all over her."
“But you don't mind walking all over me!"
“I shall buy you a bag of sugarplums,” he said, smiling to cover his embarrassment.
“I am not a child, Griffin!"
“But you'll teach me the waltz?"
“Very well, but it cannot be done in any hole-in-the-wall fashion. You must come to the house, and Mama or someone will play the pianoforte for us."
“We'll settle some hour when Dunsmore is being given his opportunity to solidify his position vis-à-vis my fiancée,” he said, with a satirical curl of the lip.
“And his fiancée. Fancy Myra having two beaux."
“And poor you has not even nabbed one. You are slow off the mark, Sal."
“I had offers!"
“They cannot have been good ones, or you would be bounced off by now."
“They were excellent offers!"
“Then why did you not accept?"
She bit her lip in frustration. Griffin was not interested enough to pursue the matter, but he did think of it, among other things, as he drove home. Little Alice, all grown up and trying to act like a lady, and some gents actually thinking she would make a suitable bride. It made him realize how long he had been away, and the changes that had occurred during that time. But mostly he thought of Myra, who seemed even more alluring, as she was now a prize that must be competed for. He would win her back yet. He had not crossed jungles and oceans, only to be outdone by that simpering idiot, Dunsmore.
Chapter Four
With the best intentions in the world, Lord Griffin was not able to lavish the attention on his fiancée that he had wished to, and that he had felt the situation demanded. The world had discovered him, and it seemed that a large part of the world came to Grosvenor Square to pay him court. Every journal worth its salt sent reporters to interview his lordship. Every scholarly society and every social club was eager for him to join their numbers. Society hostesses too vied for his presence at their soirees. London had not seen such lionizing since Lord Byron published his Cantoes, and awoke one morning to find himself famous.
Jewelers did a flourishing business in small golden hoops for gentlemen's ears. When Griffin dashed out in a downpour one morning in a pair of old gaucho boots to save his new Hessians, the boot makers were besieged by requests for these strange-looking articles, of a soft leather that hung loosely about the ankles, like a pair of hose several sizes too large. The sedate paisley shawl, beloved by ladies of fashion, was replaced by hand-loomed shawls of exotic flowered prints. Griffin had brought home some lengths of Indian textile, and gave them to a few callers. It was Lady Sara who had the inspiration of adding a fringe and turning hers into a shawl. If it came from Griffin, it had to be stunning. He had become the very glass of fashion and mold of form.
The Duke of Devonshire said frankly that Brummell in his heyday could not fasten Griffin's shoe buckle when it came to style. Word of Griffin's fame spread to Brighton, and the prince had himself hoisted into his carriage and driven to London to meet the new Adonis. But first he took half a dozen sunbaths to tint his sluggish complexion.
A piquancy was added to the whole by the triangular arrangement of Griffin's engagement to Miss Newbold, who was simultaneously betrothed to the illustrious Duke of Dunsmore. Which would she choose? The advantages of the ducal parti—his fortune and his various estates—were too well-known to require enumeration. Of course Dunny was a bit of a fool, but a good chap withal. Griffin, on the other hand, was also noble, and while not so disgustingly rich, how many houses could one lady live in? Griffin was so very handsome, so gallant, so manly.
It was felt that Lady Jersey summed it up aptly when she said: “It all depends on whether Miss Newbold
marries with her heart or her head.” The odds at the younger gentlemen's clubs ran in favor of heart; at the sanctuaries of the elderly, Dunsmore had the edge. No bets were placed among the ladies; they agreed unanimously that she would choose Griffin.
Miss Newbold herself was in a fever of indecision. She loved Dunsmore dearly, and suffered along with him the pangs of her vacillation. But then when Griffin came sweeping into her mama's saloon, bringing with him trinkets and stories from the wilds of South America, and a whiff of notoriety (for he was not so discreet as a fiancée could wish regarding his interviews with the press), she felt she would be mad not to choose him.
The notoriety involved, among other things, a certain Indian princess called Nwani, who had been given to Griffin by her papa for some brave escapade during the wild boar hunt. Griffin was quoted as having said it would be a fatal insult to refuse her. The princess had not returned with him to England, but as no fatality had befallen him, Myra was inclined to think he had accepted the lady at least temporarily.
This, however, did not prevent her from dashing through Hyde Park in his newly acquired curricle, with an albino monkey called Snow White riding bobbin on the front of the carriage. This mischievous creature actually terrified Myra. Snow White was fiercely jealous of her master, and struck out at any lady who got too close to him. She had actually tried to bite Myra, who was fortunately wearing kid gloves at the time, which was all that had prevented the sharp teeth from penetrating her flesh.
Myra liked the idea of being in Griffin's company, but when she was actually with him, she was invariably in a state of agitation that prevented her from enjoying it. He had removed the more objectionable external traces of the savage from his toilette, but she sensed a lurking primitivism beneath the bronze skin and golden earring. Even his compliments were savage.
“Why is that fellow smirking at you? I'll darken the cawker's daylights if he doesn't stop,” he had said the other day on Bond Street. “I don't want anyone but me looking at you like that. All your own fault for being so beautiful.” Surely he should not have blamed a lady for the misbehavior of a perfect stranger? She could not help being so beautiful.
