The Savage Lord Griffin

by Joan Smith

  “By Jove,” Monty said. “Not the thing, Griffin."

  “Don't be an ass, Monty. I am not going to make trouble."

  “Then why go at all?” his mama repeated.

  “Because I want to see a wedding. I have not seen one for over five years.” He ran, laughing, upstairs.

  Lady Griffin looked at Monty. “He was quite ill in the jungle, you must know. I daresay whatever rot got at him took a nibble from the brain. That is my trick, I believe,” she said, and picked up the cards.

  Griffin had his valet pack his formal suit and a few changes of linen. He was unsure how long the Newbolds meant to remain in London, but he doubted they would dart back to Newbold the next day. Within half an hour, he was seated in his carriage, being driven through the night to London. A strange euphoria had descended on him. It was as if a great load had been removed from his chest. He was in love with Alice. Beautiful little brat, Sal Newbold.

  He went to bed at six o'clock in the morning, and slept until ten. He did not plan to notify Sal of his arrival. He would surprise her. At ten he arose, made a careful toilette, and called for his carriage.

  “St. George's, Hanover Square,” he directed his groom.

  * * * *

  On Berkeley Square, the day began long before ten. Mrs. Newbold was up at seven. Myra, who had not slept a wink all night, was up at eight, and Alice joined them at eight-thirty, already wearing her wedding outfit. Myra had not wanted Sal to wear white. She wore a pale mint green gown, her favorite color, trimmed with small pink roses around the bodice. Her hair was dressed en corbeille, with a band of rosebuds in lieu of a hat. She was happy with the outfit and her looks, and only wished that Griffin could see her looking so stylish. The day had lost its euphoria for her when she learned that Griffin would not be there.

  The house was in chaos, with the coiffeur arranging Myra's hair, while Myra watched, holding a mirror in front of her, and complaining at every stroke of the brush. Alice was sent scampering off checking for gloves and shawls, and to make sure the guests who were putting up with the Newbolds were comfortable. Forgotten items had to be packed in Myra's trunks. A few gifts arrived, and were taken for the bride's approval.

  “Another set of silver candlesticks. Good God, where will we put them? Thank goodness Dunny has four houses. We will need them to hold all this rubbish."

  “They are sterling silver, my dear,” her mama pointed out apologetically. She felt that Myra was already a duchess. She could hardly wait to add “Your Grace” to her apologies.

  “How is the back of my hair, Mama? It looks horrid in front. Dunny won't have me when he sees how ugly I look."

  “You look like an angel, dear. Don't fret. Alice, fetch Myra a cup of tea. She is looking peckish."

  “If I ever get married, I shall elope,” Alice said firmly, and went to order the tea.

  It was finally time to set out for Hanover Square. The Newbolds went in their family carriage, but it was inside the duke's strawberry-bedecked doors that the new duchess would drive to the Pulteny for her wedding breakfast. Mrs. Newbold had not felt up to entertaining her noble in-laws at Berkeley Square.

  Lord Griffin was already seated in the last row when the wedding party entered the Corinthian portico of St. George's. Alice was too excited to feel his presence. The ceremony proceeded with no disruptions, except a slight delay when Dunsmore dropped the ring. Alice retrieved it, and watched with a sense of awe as the couple made their fateful vows. “To have and to hold, from this day forward.” What a huge undertaking marriage was. Imagine Myra promising to love the duke for the rest of her life, or even for a day.

  Yet it looked like love shining in Myra's eyes when the duke slid the ring on her finger. Perhaps it was just delight at being a duchess. She was a duchess now, Alice supposed. Whoever Griffin married would be a countess. Lady Griffin. Surely he would not make Nancy Warwick a countess! She was on thorns to return to Newbold Hall, and learn what was happening during her absence.

  The ceremony was over, and Myra took her first walk as the Duchess of Dunsmore, down the aisle on her duke's trembling arm. Alice fell into place behind. She found herself searching the pews for friends. She spotted Sukey Sutton and her mama amid the throng who were not actually invited, but had come to see the show. Sukey surreptitiously lifted her hand and moved her fingers in a wave. Alice smiled but was prevented by the solemnity of the occasion from returning the wave. Her eyes moved over the rows, back toward the rear of the church. She could stare as much as she wanted, because everyone was looking at the bride. Everyone except one man in the back row, who looked straight ahead.

  She looked, and looked again. It couldn't be. But it was; it was Griffin. He had come after all, just as Myra said he would. It was he, lurking in the back row, prodding his pain. She lowered her brows in a dark scowl when she caught his eye. He smiled, trying to conceal his pain. The wedding couple continued on out the door.

  There was a general melee of friends congratulating the couple, and soon of the carriages arriving. Alice looked all around for Griffin, and saw him hanging at the edge of the crowd, waiting. She marched straight to him.

  “I told you not to come,” she said. “You look like the ghost at the feast. It is too late, Griffin. She is married. I thought you would have more pride than to come."

  “I want to talk to you, Sal."

  “You obviously cannot talk to me here, and now. We are leaving for the Pulteny. Some of the guests are coming to Berkeley Square after to dance. Myra and the duke will not stay long. If you want to call in the evening, around seven, I shall sneak into the library for a talk."

  “I don't intend to sneak around. I was invited to this do. I doubt your mama will throw me out if I appear for the dance."

  “It is too late, Griffin. Take your last look now. See, she is just waving from Dunsmore's carriage."

  The duchess spotted Griffin. She smiled an exultant smile, pointed him out to her duke, and waved her final adieu. Griffin blew her a kiss. The duchess was hard-pressed to explain his merry smile, but she was pleased with the kiss.

  “Save me a dance, Sal,” Griffin said, then he turned and strode down the street, swinging his cane and whistling.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Such a Lucullan feast as graced the table of the Pulteny Hotel had not been seen since the Prince Regent entertained Czar Alexander and King Frederick of Prussia and their noble minions. There were more courses and removes, more wines and sweets and savories than Alice had ever seen collected in one place before. Quails and hares and beef fillets larded with anchovies were removed by truffled pullets and hens in aspic. They all tasted like wood to Alice. Even the grand finale of a subtlety fashioned in sugar to resemble Dunsmore's ancestral castle failed to amuse.

  Alice had a perfectly miserable dinner. She was filled with sadness to think that Myra was leaving her home forever. Before Dunsmore's entrance into their lives, she and Myra had been friends, and she missed that earlier camaraderie. The greater exacerbation, however, was to know that Griffin had not gotten over Myra. It infuriated her that he had come creeping to the wedding for a last look at her.

  She was sorry for his pain, but she would not indulge it.

  She would tell him quite frankly that he must pull himself together, and if he could not, then he was not fit for civilization. He must return to the jungle and learn to live in a tree. Her mama, mistaking her mood for jealousy, tried to console her.

  “Don't mope, Alice. You shall do as well next year,” she said. “We move in ducal circles now. You will spend the Season with the duchess. Myra will find a parti for you. The Marquess of Lansdowne is on the lookout for a bride, you must know."

  “And has been for the past decade,” Alice muttered. The chinless marquess chose that moment to drool a smile at her.

  Alice felt very much like crying, but she smiled dutifully, and drank some wine, for the food refused to go down her throat. Eventually the dinner and speeches and toasts were over, and they could go h
ome to begin the dancing. She was angry that Griffin was coming, and half-afraid that he would not. In any case, she meant to detour him from the ballroom to a private parlor for his scold.

  The duke and duchess opened the dancing. They gazed soulfully into each other's eyes, and exchanged not a word. Everyone agreed they made a handsome couple. Myra could not like to leave such a stunning party too early, and hung on until the shadows of evening lengthened. The duke was eager to be on his way; he disliked to travel after dark. All the while they danced, Alice was on nettles lest Griffin come pouncing in and cause a scene.

  It was eight o'clock before the bridal couple was finally bounced off amid a shower of blessing and teasing. Alice breathed a sigh of relief. At least Griffin had missed them. At nine, she began to wonder what kept him. By nine-thirty, she was wishing he would come. There could be no harm in it now. Instead of a scolding, she would try to cheer him up. At ten the last carriage left, leaving behind the guests who were to spend the night and return later to Newbold Hall with Mrs. Newbold.

  This family party was wending its way back to the ballroom after seeing the guests off when the door knocker sounded. Alice hung behind. She had given up on Griffin's coming, thinking he had either drunk himself into a stupor or had taken her advice and stayed away. But still she dallied, just in case.

  “Is Miss Alice in?” a man's voice inquired. She recognized it at once, and flew to the door, her heart hammering.

  Griffin! He sounded completely sober, thank God. He had changed into evening clothes, and looked so dashing she could only wonder at Myra's choosing the duke. His bronzed skin was accentuated by the white cravat at his throat. At his ear, the gold earring twinkled. She was glad he had waited this late, or Myra might have changed her mind, even if she was already married. How his eyes sparkled. “Myra has already left,” she said.

  He followed her into the saloon, where a riot of glasses and shawls and confusion reigned after the recent revels.

  “I know. I waited outside until the last carriage had left. You were right. It would have been gauche of me to come and dance at Myra's wedding. How did it go off?"

  “Fine. Very well,” she said, scouring her mind for something of interest to add. “Dunsmore dropped the ring."

  “Butterfingers."

  She sensed a lack of ease in him, a nervousness, as he paced to and fro, glancing around at the aftermath of the party. His nervousness transferred itself to Alice. Her various speeches flew from her mind, leaving her at a loss for words. He did not look morose, as she expected, nor vindictive, as she feared, but there was some tension in him. It hit her like a bolt of lightning. He is leaving! He has come to make his farewells before going to Greece, or some other impossible place. He cannot endure England without Myra, and he is going to run away.

  “What was it you wanted to see me about?” Her voice came out shrill and louder than she intended. She meant to be calm, polite. She had endured the rest of it; she could take this final blow, too, like a lady.

  Griffin tossed his shoulders. “I don't know how to begin.” He was half a room away, and he did not come closer. The glow in his eyes was strong, but unreadable. “I have been such a fool."

  Alice decided he had come for comfort, and adjusted her mood accordingly. She found a wine decanter and glasses, and poured two glasses. When she sat on the satin-striped sofa, Griffin joined her.

  “A toast?” she suggested. “To Myra and the duke."

  “Let us make that, ‘the duke and duchess.’ I think she would prefer it that way."

  They exchanged a small smile of mutual understanding and drank. “I am sorry it did not work out for you, Griffin,” she said. “I hope you will not think too badly of her. It was not just the superior title, you know. She truly does like that sort of man—easy to get on with, quiet."

  “Biddable. She chose well to refuse me. I would have led her a hellish life. Hellish for her, I mean,” he added hastily, not wanting to cut the ground from under his feet. “I trust some ladies would not object too strenuously to my nature, and my work."

  Alice listened, trying to hear what was being communicated beneath the words. Was he going to discuss other ladies with her? She really did not feel she could endure that tonight, after her wretched day.

  “Very likely,” she said dampingly. “Lady Sara, perhaps,” she added, as the silence stretched uncomfortably between them.

  “No, I prefer a younger, less sophisticated lady. Perhaps my long sojourn in the jungle has left me in arrears of the fashion, but I feel more comfortable with a simpler lady. I do not mean simple of mind, of course, but less versed in the ways of the fashionable world."

  Immediately the name Miss Warwick popped into Alice's head. He was apologizing for her provincial manner. She felt her heart sink. He had convinced himself he was in love with Nancy Warwick, to assuage his grief at losing Myra. “It might be wiser for you to put some time between your recent loss and choosing a new wife, if that is what you are talking about,” she said, observing him closely. “You mentioned the need of a whole heart, you recall.” She read his quick frown, and feared he had already offered for Nancy. Impetuous fool!

  “Do me the courtesy of allowing that I know my own mind—and heart,” he said gruffly.

  “That is news to me, Griffin. You loved Myra until a few weeks ago. You were mooning all over Lady Sara at your house party, now you have suddenly found some provincial miss. I give it a month."

  “You sound as though I were an acknowledged here and there-ian,” he objected. “I had never been in love when I proposed to Myra. To tell the truth, I hardly knew her. She was beautiful and shy and admired me. I have been in love with a dream for five years, not a lady."

  “Are you sure this is not a dream, too, Griffin? You expect this simple miss to be at home in the wilds of the world?"

  “Italy and Greece are hardly the wilds of the world."

  “If your mind is made up, I don't know why you bother talking to me about it,” she said with an angry toss of her shoulders.

  “Who else should I speak to?” he said, confused at her lack of sympathy. “Who else but you ever understood me, Sal? At least I thought you understood me.” He peered for her reaction. Had he imagined she was fond of him?

  “No, I never understood you at all,” she said baldly. “I thought you were beginning to have some sense, but I see you are as incomprehensible as ever."

  “Then you don't think it would work?"

  “I have no idea. Why ask me? Ask Miss Warwick—if you have not done so already."

  Griffin blinked in bewilderment. “Miss—who?"

  “Miss Warwick. Is that not the provincial miss you have in mind?"

  “I don't know what you are—oh, the girl from the village who wanted to see my trophies. Your friend that we took to the fair at Ashmore."

  Alice gazed at him, while a wild idea sprouted at the back of her mind. He didn't even remember Nancy's name. He had been at Mersham; there were no other eligible ladies nearby. Griffin watched as hope grew to knowledge, and gradually trembled to joy.

  He pulled her into his arms, laughing in relief, and cradled her against his chest. “You scared the life out of me, Sal. I have been a fool. It was you all the time, and I was too blind to see it."

  She peered up from his shoulder, tears misting her eyes. It was like a dream finally come true. “But you hardly know me, Griffin."

  “I have known you from the cradle."

  “Since I am grown up, I mean."

  A tender smile settled on his harsh features. Some trace of the twelve-year-old lingered in her youthful smile, and her innocent eyes. “Then it is high time we become acquainted,” he said in a husky voice.

  His lips settled gently on hers for a first tentative taste. A warm wave of tenderness swelled within him. He wanted to love and protect her, and keep her innocent forever. He lifted his head and smiled softly down at her. He felt humbled by the love glowing in her eyes.

  She looked a moment,
then said shyly, “I am not a child now, Griffin,” and wrapped her arms around his neck for a more satisfactory kiss.

  The last trace of childhood fell away from her under the impact of that embrace. The memory of his years of loneliness and waiting receded into the recesses of memory, overwhelmed by the here and the now, and the fulfillment of love.

  It was a mature woman who returned his ardent embraces, though Alice felt as if she had fallen into a fairy tale from her youth. She had snatched her handsome prince as a prize from the jaws of defeat, and she would never let him go, not for a minute. They would sleep under the stars in a blanket, and pick wildflowers on the cliffs in Greece. What did it matter where they were, as long as they were together? It was some time before they settled down to rational talk.

  “I thought you would never realize I had grown up,” she said, drawing a luxurious sigh.

  “The problem was that I had not grown up, Sal. It was you who pointed out the youthful folly of my ways. I shall try to be a civilized husband."

  “Not too civilized,” she said coquettishly. “You must remember it was my sister who was afraid of the savage. I loved you just the way you were, Griffin. And I quite look forward to a honeymoon in Greece. I shall sit in the amphitheater, and you shall recite for me—after we have collected all the specimens from the cliffs, I mean."

  “I have a year or two of work still to do on my Brazilian trip before going to Greece. We cannot wait that long to marry."

  “If I help you, after we are married I mean, perhaps we can finish sooner."

  “I have a feeling your help would be too distracting. We shall go in a year or so."

  “Griffin, I hope you are not planning to settle down into a dull old scribe. I want to travel."

  “So do I, but first I want to marry you."

  Echoes of the waltz came from the ballroom. “Let us have a dance at Myra's wedding after all,” Griffin suggested.