by Anita Mills
Rain began to spill soft drops on him and then as the storm gained in intensity he was pelted and soaked thoroughly. Oblivious of the storm, he urged his team on in the darkening afternoon until his anger was spent.
2
Caroline Ashley viewed her charge with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Though only five years Juliana Canfield’s senior, it sometimes seemed as though she were expected to fulfill a multitude of roles beyond those she had been employed to do, to wit, to restrain the younger girl’s volatility and to guide her through a London Season safely until she could hopefully be turned over to an equally strong-willed husband. Her employment had been a master stroke on the part of her mentor, Miss Richards, headmistress at the select female academy where the very cream of the ton’s daughters were instructed in the art of being ladies. That lady, seizing upon the despair of Lady Lenore, had suggested Caroline as a calming influence while informing the Canfields in almost the same breath that Juliana simply could not finish her education there. Sir Maximillian, after hearing the rather daunting list of Juliana’s scrapes, had endorsed the proposal almost immediately. Lady Lenore, on the other hand, had demanded to know just how an unmarried female quite on the shelf could expect to guide anyone through a Season when she had not personally experienced one of her own. For once Sir Max had prevailed, and thus had begun an association that Caroline could only consider a mixed blessing—while learning to detest the cold and arrogant Lady Lenore, she had become sincerely attached to Juliana. In a matter of days, she had discovered that it was Lenore Canfield’s overbearing, calculating disposition that inspired Juliana to rebellion. Had that lady been less inclined to rule and more inclined to affection, Caro believed the girl would have been better-behaved. But, since nothing short of being a totally insipid beauty would satisfy her mother, Juliana had asserted her independence in more ways than Caro cared to count.
She shuffled through a sheaf of papers sent over by Madame Cecile, the premier modiste to the ton, and selected several drawings for the girl’s attention. “Take a look at these, my dear, and see what you like,” Caroline suggested.
“I don’t know…. What do you think, Caro?” Juliana mused absently on another matter. “Should I leave a waltz for Ryburn? ’Twill quite fill up my card, and I’ve no place for Harrington.”
“I think,” Caroline reproved mildly, “that it is more to the point to examine these sketches so that we may give your mama an answer this morning. Besides, you cannot even know that both gentlemen will ask,” she added with a twinkle in her dark eyes. “Really, Ju, but ’tis rather conceited to have your ball card planned even before we reach the Beresfords’.”
“Oh, but I know they shall both press me to waltz,” Juliana responded airily, “for I am positive that each means to fix his interest to me. Why, Lord Ryburn assures me that I am all the crack, and Lord Harrington writes the most charming poetry to my eyes, as you might remember.”
“Charming drivel,” Caro observed dryly. “And since you have not the least intention of accepting an offer from either of them, it is not very becoming of you to flirt with them so outrageously.” She looked up to see Juliana fluttering her eyelashes over the much-praised cornflower-blue orbs to test the effect in her mirror.
Apparently satisfied, the girl turned back with a giggle. “Oh, Caro, did you ever think I should take half so well?” she demanded naively.
“There was never a doubt in my mind, love, although you simply must stop twitting your mama else I shall be turned off.” Caroline sobered. “Only this morning, Lady Canfield wished to know how I could have countenanced your dancing three times with young Rupert Rowan at Lady Bennington’s. You know full well that to stand up more than twice with the same partner bespeakes a particularity certain to be remarked. And since it is common knowledge that Captain Rowan is nothing but a gazetted fortune hunter, your mama was not amused.”
“Oh, Caro, I am sorry.” The girl was instantly contrite. “Certainly I have not the least interest in Captain Rowan—I swear. He fawns on one in the most excessive way, you know, but I could not help it. I saw Mama watching me like she always does and I did it to vex her. I saw little enough harm at the time.” With a sigh, she moved to pick up the sketches that Caroline had selected. “Do not worry about Mama, Caro. She’s been in high dudgeon since she came back from West-over. Besides, Papa thinks you quite the most exceptionable companion he could have engaged for me. He says he can see the wonders you have wrought.”
“He does not. Juliana, you must give over this tendency to exaggerate.”
“But he does—he said so yesterday before you came down to nuncheon—I swear it.” She took in Caroline’s neat, dark braids, her fine, expressive brown eyes, and her delicately defined profile before confiding further, “You know he said something else, too—that you’d be more than passably pretty if Mama would but spare the blunt to rig you out properly. And he’s right—if you had had a Season, you’d be a married lady instead of having to dragon for me.”
“A delusion at best,” Caroline sighed as Juliana returned to her favorite subject beyond herself. “No, my dear, it would never have happened. Oh, I’ll give you that my birth’s respectable, but who’s to forget that my papa put a period to his own existence rather than go to debtors’ jail? And do not be going on about the Gunnings marrying dukes or some such nonsense—that was years and years ago. Now, a man as rich as a nabob desires an heiress.”
“Still—”
“Ju, you know ’tis Madame Cecile’s busy season. If you would have new gowns, you must decide now.” Caroline redirected her charge’s attention back to the matter at hand. Pointing to one of the drawings in the younger girl’s hand, she persisted, “What do you think of that done up in a soft blue taffeta? Or even in a deeper shade perhaps? And you might consider the other one in a silver gauze, I think.”
“Lud, I don’t care, Caro—’tis you who have the good taste. I am quite sick of clothes and fittings, if you want the truth of it. ’Tis the only thing Mama seems the least inclined to spend money on, isn’t it?”
“Nonetheless, it must be done, my dear. Both your parents are determined to fire you off in style.”
“And how do you think I feel, Caro, to go off night after night rigged out in the latest gowns while you trail after in that old rose silk of yours? You have all the instincts as to what is right—yet you cannot even dress above a poor relation! I mean to speak to Papa about it, Caro!”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Caroline’s dark eyes widened in alarm. “Ju, promise me that you will not! You’ll make matters worse for me with your mama if you even attempt it.”
“Fiddle.”
“You know I was merely engaged to go about with you—Lady Lenore made it quite plain that I was not to put myself forward in the least.”
“Well, I do not like it at all. We are friends, are we not, Caro? Oh, I know I was displeased when Mama and Papa hired you, but you were not what I expected. Caro, I like you!”
“Then leave it be!” Caroline burst out with asperity. It was a familiar argument, and one she had no intention of pursuing again. Try as she might, she could never get Juliana to realize the precariousness of her position. The girl refused to understand the jealousy a young female could evoke in a household. “Your pardon for raising my voice, my dear,” she sighed. “I fear I am become more like you than the other way around.”
“Then perhaps we are good for each other,” Juliana responded, “for you will suppress my scrapes and I will give you a modicum of levity. You may have instructed in deportment for Miss Richards, love,” she added with a twinkle, “but I suspect you have often wanted to cut up the tiniest dust yourself.”
They were interrupted by a tap at the chamber door. Caroline rose to open it to one of the footmen, a fellow with some years’ service in the Canfield household. He beamed affectionately across to his master’s daughter and lowered his voice almost conspiratorially to announce, “There’s
a visitor belowstairs for you, Miss Juliana—I took the liberty of putting the person in the blue saloon without disturbing Simpson.”
“But who—?”
“Ah … one of your cousins, miss.”
Both Juliana and Caroline rolled their eyes at the thought of even a few minutes spent with either Miss Charlotte Danvers or Miss Vivian Danvers before Juliana caught the warning in the footman’s expression. “Oh.” She formed the word silently and nodded. Turning quickly to Caroline, she directed, “Take whichever drawing you like to Mama—I shall be back directly.”
“But you’ll be at daggers-drawn with your cousin in minutes, Ju. Perhaps I ought to go down with you to keep the peace.”
“No—’twill be all right, I promise. Just tell Mama I will have the silver one, please.”
Before Caroline could make sense of her haste, Juliana had slipped down the back stairs with the footman trailing behind her. Fervently hoping that Caroline could detain her mother, she threw open the door with a squeal of delight and ran to hug him.
“Oh, Patrick—’tis you, after all!”
“Hallo. Ju.” He grinned as he set her back and disengaged her arms from around his neck. Giving her a quick appraisal, he teased, “Well, I can see that beneath all your fine clothes, there’s still an incorrigible hoyden.”
“Patrick Danvers, is that any way to greet your favorite cousin?” she demanded in mock pique.
“Given the selection, it ain’t much of a distinction, is it?” His hazel eyes lit up in amusement as she tossed her blond curls and moved away to position herself in the best light, making sure that her perfect profile was outlined by the window. “And you can save the flirting for someone who will appreciate it.”
“Patrick!”
The amusement faded and he sobered. Abruptly he changed the subject. “You heard what happened at Westover, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and it is the most hideously unfair thing! Patrick, ’twas monstrous cruel what Uncle Vernon did.”
“Alas, did my aunt not tell you how unfair it was to all of us?”
“But to say you have to marry! And so soon!”
“Oh, I suppose everyone gets leg-shackled eventually, Ju.” He smiled at her indignation. “After all, isn’t that what you’re trying to do with your Season?”
“Well, it’s what Mama’s trying to do, if that’s what you mean.” She turned her head to meet his eyes. “Surely you don’t mean to attempt meeting the terms, Patrick—’tis impossible!”
“Et tu, Ju?”
“What?”
“You don’t have any more faith in my chances than the rest of them, do you? I’d not expected it of you.”
“Oh, Patrick—no! ’Tis not that, precisely, but … well, can you?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Perhaps. Not that I’ll take an Antidote or anything just to get the money. While I’m not as rich as Croesus, I’m comfortable enough that I don’t have to sell my name for the family fortune.”
“You shouldn’t have made the wager, Patrick.” Juliana bit her lip as soon as the words had escaped. “Oh, I know—coming from me, that’s rich, isn’t it? I’d have done the same thing if I’d been facing Charlie and Charlotte, I am sure.”
“It was this curst temper of mine,” he admitted. “I should’ve stayed home since I never expected anything from Uncle Vernon anyway. But I will own it was vastly entertaining when old Weatherby read off the rest of the will.”
“Mama’s still mad as fire.”
“So are they all, no doubt.” He moved to stand beside her and looked out the unshuttered window for a moment. “Ju, I’ll need your help if I am to try pulling this off. I am afraid that the sort of women I know don’t qualify under Uncle Vernon’s terms.” He caught himself and flashed a rueful smile. “Your pardon—I am unused to polite society—I should not have said that.”
“Pooh. As if I did not know about barques of frailty and the muslin company, after all. Besides, Patrick, we have always been able to say anything to each other.”
“Almost anything,” he amended. “Thing is, Ju, I don’t know any respectable females.”
“No …” She shook her head. “If you mean that I am to present you to eligible ladies, I cannot do it. For one thing, it won’t fadge; for another, it would cost Miss Ashley her position with Mama. If it were just me —if I thought it would work—I’d do it, but your suit would not be welcomed, Patrick, and if Mama knew I’d helped you, she’d turn Caro off without a character. She blames Caro for everything, anyway.”
“Caro?”
“My companion. Papa hired her to keep me from getting into scrapes, you know, and I suppose it has worked a little.”
“She’s a veritable paragon if it has. The last I heard, you’d been sent home from school for trying to elope with the dancing master.”
“ ’Twasn’t the dancing master, Patrick—he was at least thirty and had the longest nose,” she remembered mischievously. “If you have to remember the tale, remember it right—’twas the music master—he had soulful eyes and a very fine pair of shoulders, too.”
“Lud, Ju! One could almost pity Aunt Lenore.”
“Patrick …” She sobered suddenly. “If you want the money …”
“Well, I’m not in beggars’ row, Ju, so it’s not so much that,” he answered, “as the thought of Charlie and Quen and Larry’s crowing that prompts me to try.”
She turned away and took a deep breath. “Patrick, there is me.”
He stared, bereft of speech for a moment, at his beautiful cousin. He’d heard she was the Toast of the Season, that Brummell himself had dubbed her “the Canfield Jewel,” and he knew how determined his aunt was that she make a good match. “No, Ju, I’d not ask you to do it.”
“Patrick—”
“You don’t fancy yourself in love with me, do you?” he asked gently.
“Well, no, but—”
“Then think about what you offer, my dear, before you throw a brilliant future away. Would you really want to give up your Season to wed with an outcast? That’s what I am, after all,” he reminded her with a trace of bitterness in his voice.
“I don’t care.” She spun back around. “Patrick, of all the family, I like you the best—I cannot stand what they have done to you. I’d marry you before I’d let them make a laughingstock of you. Only say that I may bring Caro with me, and—”
“Of everyone I know, Ju, we are the most alike,” he interrupted. “No—we should not suit. For one thing, you’d have to change too much—and so would I. You’d flirt, and I’d forever be defending my honor.”
“But I wouldn’t! I’d be the most unexceptional wife! And I would never have to listen to Mama carp—she’d never speak to me again.”
“Well”—he administered the coup de grace—“assuming that everything else worked out, have you considered the degree of intimacy required to obtain a Westover heir?” He watched her eyes widen and nodded his head. “Whether you would like it or not, we’d have to embark immediately to put you into an interesting condition. And assuming we are successful, have you thought that you will be dandling a little redheaded fellow on your knee this time next year? With your coloring and mine, we should most likely produce a carrot-top,” he finished with a grin.
“Ugh!”
“Precisely. And think if the poor child should be a girl. We should never fire her off.”
“Oh, Patrick!” She began to giggle at the picture of wedded life he painted. “Well, if you insist on describing life with you in those terms, you will not even have to worry about your horrid reputation. There’s none to have you.”
“Do you think I haven’t considered that? How the devil am I to find a female I can tolerate, anyway? And assuming there is such a creature out there, I’m going to have to offer as bold as brass, ‘Marry me, miss, and give me an heir so I can be rich.’ No doubt I shall be impaled on her hatpin for the suggestion.”
“Well, maybe we can think of something,” she ventured doubtfully.
The sound of footsteps outside made both of them jump. Juliana moved to rearrange the flowers in a bowl and Patrick turned to study the latticework of the windowpanes. After a soft rap at the door, Caroline Ashley let herself in and moved forward apologetically. Patrick edged around cautiously, took in her dull, drab gray gown, the starched cap atop her braids, and relaxed slightly.
“Your pardon, Juliana, but your mama is looking for you. I promised to fetch you before she came herself. After all—” She stopped, suddenly aware of the man in the room.
“He is my cousin, Caro—’tis Westover,” Juliana hastened to explain.
Clearly, the title meant nothing to her and she did not make the connection with the more infamous Patrick Danvers. To keep her at point non plus, Patrick moved quickly to bow over her hand while Juliana added, “Westover, may I present my dearest friend, Caroline Ashley? Miss Ashley stays with us for the Season.” With a wary eye on the open door, she added, “My cousin has but returned to town.”
“I did not mean to intrude, but Lady Canfield was most insistent.”
“Westover was just leaving, Caro. If you will but tell Mama that I shall be up immediately, I’ll see him out.”
“Pray do not be long, Ju,” Caroline urged, “and I will show her the rest of the sketches.”
Patrick watched her leave, much struck by two things—the slight huskiness of her voice and the deep pansy-brown of her eyes. “Is that your dragon, Coz? I’d imagined Aunt Lenore to employ a very different sort of person.”
“Well, you do not know her, of course, but now can you not see why I cannot risk losing her? Lud knows what Mama would find the next time.”
“She cannot be very old,” he mused slowly.
“She is three-and-twenty, Patrick.” Juliana started to follow her companion out, took a few steps, stopped abruptly, and spun around in inspiration. “Patrick, you are quite positive that you do not want to marry me?”
