A Grand Deception

by Shirley Marks

  "Yes, you do." Sherwin kept a firm hold of the quizzing glass handle and could now see that the feathered creature pecking at the grain was not a mere decoration but a real bird. It was either foraging for a late-afternoon snack or gathering some material for constructing a cozy nest.

  Miss Holbrook shrieked, waving her arms in the air out of sheer terror to frighten away the trespasser.

  Sherwin pressed back into the squabs, leaning as far away from her as he could manage.

  In any case, the bird fled. Park guests in passing vehicles gawked in their direction, open-mouthed and wide-eyed at Miss Holbrook's exhibition. The horses balked, and the barouche lurched forward, nearly sending Sherwin tumbling over the side to the ground.

  I have been informed by her ladyship that you are to wear the dark blue Superfine jacket with the gold-striped waistcoat this evening." Sherwin's valet, Lewis, hung each garment within easy reach.

  Sherwin stood in his shirtsleeves and white knee breeches before a full-length pier mirror in his bedchamber. He knew he was little more than a mannequin or puppet for his mother, and not only when it came to dressing. But he simply did not care. Someone had to take charge of family matters. If his mother wanted to assume that role, she was welcome to it.

  Lady Amhurst needed his cooperation, however, and Sherwin would do what he must to accommodate his mother. He could not deny he had a duty to the family, no matter how difficult the task.

  It was not so much difficult as tiresome.

  Lewis spent an inordinate amount of time straightening the fabric of Sherwin's shirt and removing bits of lint. Sherwin stood very still, holding his arms to his sides as not to distract his valet, who reached for a length of linen and wrapped it around Sherwin's neck with precision.

  Sherwin hoped for a successful first attempt. It wasn't always so. Sometimes tying the cravat took several triesand with each attempt the failure was discarded, dropped to the floor, and a new swathe of linen applied.

  This whole courting ordeal took up far too much time, as far as he was concerned. If his mother would save him the trouble and simply be so good as to choose a bride for him, he would truly appreciate it.

  "I've changed my mind, Lewis." Lady Amhurst strode into Sherwin's bedchamber. "I'd rather he sport a waterfall this evening."

  "At once, your ladyship." Lewis' hands froze, then unfolded and unwound the crisp linen he'd been sculpting into an Oriental. He flung it to the side and reached for another to begin again.

  Sherwin said nothing, merely endured.

  Lady Amhurst moved to examine the waistcoat and jacket. "And not the blue, I think, but the black."

  "Yes, my lady," Lewis acknowledged without taking his eyes from his work.

  Sherwin remained still, hoping his cooperation would hurry things along.

  His mother stepped to the marble-topped bureau where his accessories were laid out for the evening. Two fobs, one for a pocket watch he could not see to discern the time, the other, which hung from his left pocket, simply decorative, and a long gold chain connecting them. He'd also wear a quizzing glass. Not because it helped him to see much, but because his mother considered it a fashionable ornament.

  Crafting of the waterfall had been completed. Lewis slipped the waistcoat over Sherwin's sleeves, settling it onto his shoulders and buttoning the front. The quizzing glass went over Sherwin's neck before he shrugged on the jacket, the black one. The valet adjusted the material around the collar, making sure the cravat hadn't lost its shape. He tugged on the cuffs, extending them a half inch from the sleeve.

  Lewis stepped back to retrieve the accessories. He placed the pocket watch, gold chain, and fobs in their places, adjusting each to hang at the same length.

  "Yes, you'll do nicely," remarked Lady Amhurst, passing her critical gaze over her son. Then she left the room.

  "There you are!" Miss Constance Kimball moved to Muriel's side upon sight of her at the Shropes' ball.

  "Be aware, Sukey, my cousin approaches," Muriel warned her friend.

  "Oh, Moo. It is too bad of you to speak of her so." Susan threw an admonishing glare her way.

  "I expect everyone who's anyone will attend the ball tonight," Constance uttered in a confidential tone.

  "What is that supposed to mean?" Susan dropped open her fan to cool herself.

  "Only that our companion here"- Constance indicated Muriel with the tip of her closed fan-"is the current on dit, and they will wish to see what happens next."

  Neither Muriel nor Susan said a word.

  "You know very well to what I refer, Miss Wilbanks. I heard you were in attendance when it happened. You rode in the very same carriage as Muriel and must have witnessed the entire incident."

  "Incident'?" Susan repeated with her eyebrows raised. "Oh, you must mean the disruption in the Park. It was absolutely ghastly. There was a horrendous shriek that terrified some of the horses, and they bolted, running about, and there might have been a horrible accident."

  Muriel clearly remembered hearing Miss Holbrook cry out after she and her party passed the carriage. Why Sherwin cared to be out driving with her was another question. Did he not know she only cared for bonnets and trimmings?

  "That's not what I am referring to at all." Constance seemed to ignore the near-disastrous consequence of overwrought passengers, injured equines, and damaged equipage. "The cut direct." She continued, whispering with great urgency. "Our Muriel and the Earl of Amhurst. It was not merely one cutting the other. No, it was quite mutual, so I hear. What do you say to that, cousin?"

  Susan glanced from Constance to Muriel.

  Muriel already knew what Susan had seen. Nothing. At the time, she'd been occupied in conversation with both Mr. Stanley and Mr. Ambrose. Why couldn't her cousin have inquired about the near accidents? Susan had seen everything that had happened after Miss Holbrook screamed.

  At the very moment Muriel had caught sight of Sher-the Earl, sitting in a carriage, their gazes had met. She knew without a moment's hesitation that each instantly wished not to have seen the other, and the next moment, for it was only an instant later, slid their gazes away.

  Muriel had thought-hoped, really-that no one had noticed. She hadn't glanced around at others in the Park to confirm if she had been correct. It had happened so quickly. How could anyone have seen?

  It seemed her assumption was wrong. Evidently those who were present within a twenty-foot radius had borne witness to the deed, and those who lay beyond, but still within Hyde Park, were then notified by the firsthand observers. Those who resided within the London city limits were then, apparently, informed by secondhand accounts. The remainder of the British kingdom would soon learn of the Duke of Faraday's youngest daughter and the Earl of Amhurst's social slight by post or mention in the gossip columns of tomorrow morning's newspaper.

  Ridiculous.

  "We need to change the subject." Muriel leaned toward Susan and whispered, then turned toward her cousin. "Have you seen Sir Samuel? There is something I wish to speak to him about."

  "Not as of yet," replied Constance. "I shall certainly keep watch for him. He is a most handsome young man. Is there anything you can tell me about him?" The last was said in more than a casual manner.

  "Sir Samuel is to be the Duke of Cubberleigh, you know. Someday, that is," Susan informed her. Had she wished to spare Muriel from answering any more questions? "Probably a long time off, for his grandfather holds the title now, and his father, Earl of Hamstead, is next in line."

  "Sukey!" Muriel wished her friend would not say so much. Glancing at her cousin, Muriel detected Constance's greedy expression and cautioned her with, "Sir Samuel is as dear to us as my brother, Freddie, or Susan's brother Richard."

  "He was hopelessly in love with Gusta, and we all adore him quite as if he were one of our fold," Susan confided in Constance. Muriel thought perhaps that might not have been the wisest action. "He'd make a splendid catch, if only one could gain his attention. It's been four, nearly five years since Gu
sta refused him."

  "I shall set my cap for him," Constance vowed. "If I cannot gain Lord Amhurst's notice, that is."

  It was all Muriel could do to hold her tongue. Think pleasant thoughts, she repeated to herself. How would angelic Charlotte behave if she were to face a situation such as this?

  Constance to set her cap for Sir Samuel-what a load of gammon!

  Muriel really must rein in her annoyance and not give herself away, or all her planning to attend the London Season would be for naught.

  "Lady Muriel." Sir Samuel bent over her hand, looking quite dashing in his evening wear. "I have heard that you wished to see me?"

  "Oh, yes." Muriel glanced around, judging if their privacy was adequate enough for their conversation. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and urged him to move forward.

  "You aren't in trouble, are you?" A worried expression crossed his face. "You know there is nothing I would not do if you-"

  "No, it's nothing like that. I do need to ask a great favor of you, though." Muriel stared at Sir Samuel, wondering if she might, if she dared impose upon him.

  "You wish me to do something for you, then?" Sir Samuel's expression moved a fraction away from worry.

  "Let us stop over there, by the window." They moved to a far corner of the room but not out of sight, where their solitude might look odd. "I need your aid in an endeavor. It might not be an action my aunt or father would approve, but it is a risk I must take...: '

  "Is it something illegal?" He narrowed his eyes.

  "No, of course not. It's nothing of the sort. It is only that ... I am in need of an alibi, perhaps, and definitely some transportation to relay me to meet with-"

  "Not a disreputable scoundrel behind your family's back!" His eyes went wide.

  "I wish to meet with my Latin tutor," she said a bit louder than she had intended. A quick glance around told her no one had overheard, however.

  "Why do you not simply have him come to the house?" His voice returned to a whisper.

  "I cannot. My father will not hear of it. He believes I should not be wasting my time with `male studies: He wishes me to spend my time on more genteel pursuits: painting, needlework, or music."

  "You have mastered a number of musical instruments, although I cannot vouch for your voice, since I have never heard you sing."

  "And you never will," she maintained.

  "If I correctly recall, you cannot paint, draw, or create a passable rendition of needlework. So His Grace's words must be falling upon deaf ears. A Latin tutor, eh?" Sir Samuel took his time to consider her words. "How have you come to learn of this tutor?"

  It occurred to Muriel that Sir Samuel might know her a little too well. "Honestly, Samuel, he had been recommended to me many years ago, and I have been studying with him by post. Now that I am in Town, I have the opportunity to meet with him."

  "I see." Sir Samuel not only sounded skeptical, but his expression illustrated as much.

  "During Augusta's house party I met Sherwin Lloyd. He came along with his eldest brother, Lord Marsdon. Mr. Lloyd wrote a letter of introduction to Signore Biondi on my be half." Muriel knew she had to confess everything to Sir Samuel, else she would have no hope of obtaining his assistance.

  "Sherwin Lloyd? Isn't he the new Earl of Amhurst I've heard so much about recently?"

  "Yes, the very same, I imagine." This was an area in which she did not wish to venture.

  "So now you come to London and meet the Earl again." Sir Samuel was sounding more and more like her father or brother than her friend. "From the time you met him last at Faraday Hall, I'm sure he has matured from a boy to a man."

  Young scholar to an earl.

  "I hardly recognized him." She hadn't at the time. Muriel was unconcerned about the Earl in any case. They were straying from the topic, and she urged Sir Samuel with, "We were speaking of my lessons, if you recall."

  "You've been writing to the tutor ... without your family's knowledge," he repeated, illustrating the significance of her actions by his own rendition of her words. And Muriel was fairly sure he did not approve.

  "You must know how important this is to me. Sherwin knew how much my studies meant. He is the only one who has ever encouraged me."

  Sir Samuel took more time to reply than Muriel would have expected. A simple yes or no would end her torment. Would he or would he not help her? Why did he not answer?

  She must have looked frightfully distraught.

  "This may go against my better judgment, but I must know.... " A wry smile spread over Sir Samuel's face before he replied, "So, Moo, what is it exactly you wish me to do for you?"

  Sherwin arrived at the Shropes' ball at what his mother considered fashionably late and led the way into the residence with Lady Amhurst and Mr. Gibbons. If it were not for Lady Amhurst's insistence that he mingle, converse, and dance, Sherwin would have made himself much happier by standing in a quiet corner where he would not be disturbed, preferably hidden behind a potted palm or two.

  "Our hostess' daughter, Miss Shrope, awaits your escort for the next dance," Lady Amhurst informed her son. "She's the one in the peach confection over in that small group of gels." She nudged Sherwin in their direction.

  "I see her." And with his long-sightedness, and without his spectacles, it would be a blessing he would not truly see her when he got two or three steps away.

  He strode off, crossing the room in her direction, coming to a stop before her, and bowing. Offering Miss Shrope his arm for their dance, Sherwin led her to the dance floor, hearing behind him the stifled giggles of her friends.

  The dancers lined up in groups of four couples to dance the quadrille. As Miss Shrope smiled, obviously pleased to be partnered by Sherwin, he did his best not to appear sullen. Standing next to him, Miss Shrope appeared to him an enormous, featureless, peachy-pink blur.

  The music began, and the pairs bowed. The couples moved forward and back, around one another with intricate steps, switching sides of their formation. Stepping back to meet his partner to grasp her hand, Sherwin brushed gazes with someone in the last square on the other side of the room.

  Muriel.

  She stood at a distance where he could clearly see her, as she obviously saw him.

  Their momentary lapse in attention caused their partners to hesitate, and together they blocked the path of the two oncoming couples in their respective squares. The dancing came to an abrupt end as all the couples collided.

  Miss Bailey-Davies shrieked, Lord Bradley wailed, and Lady Marianne Wells cried out as all the participants fell to the floor in quick succession, resembling a line of dominos tipping from one end of the room to the other.

  Muriel could not help but watch all the dancers go down. It hadn't been her fault, had it? She could not take the entire blame upon herself. Sherwin, the Earl of Amhurst, would need to at least take half. He had been the one to catch her eye, which had caused her to pause in the midst of the dance, which might have caused the dancers to collide. And the oaf of an earl had stood immobile, just as she had.

  She was glad she hadn't fallen. To be sure, there were nearly a dozen people on the smooth, hard floor. That should have been embarrassing enough, but what she thought worse, or so it seemed, was that she and Sherwin were the only two remaining on their feet. It was quite appalling, really. The two of them remained as if they were the last two pieces on a chessboard.

  Which would have made him the king, the victor, and she the queen of the losing opponent. Muriel did not like it, and losing was definitely not a concept that appealed to her.

  Following the massive mishap, there were shouts and screams from both the dancers and the observers who filled the ballroom in the moments that followed the cataclysmic tumble. The subsequent attention that focused upon the two remaining upright persons was, blessedly, quickly forgotten, and aid from all quarters rushed to those unfortunate individuals on the floor. Bandages and cold compresses replaced the guests' need for their usual refreshments of punch an
d biscuits.

  Susan Wilbanks' familiar voice, protesting the bump of another dancer that had sent them both to the floor while knocking into other participants, caught Muriel's attention.

  "Sukey!" Muriel cried out, seeing her dear friend prostrate next to her partner, Mr. Stanley, who had, upon his fall, expostulated, "The devil!"

  Muriel set out at once, stepping over Mr. Ambrose, with whom she had partnered. She carefully moved among the injured-if they were not bodily hurt, then perhaps their status as dancing proficients had been wounded-and made her way to her friend's side.

  "Oh, Sukey, give me your hand." Muriel reached down to help her stand.

  "I beg your pardon, Lady Muriel. I should have the duty of helping Miss Wilbanks to her feet," Mr. Stanley, who had only managed to sit up, replied.

  "It might be best if you were standing on your own feet before you offered to help someone else to get to theirs." Nonetheless, Muriel dutifully released Susan's hand for a moment, though she was anxious to lead her friend out of the way, to somewhere safe from the elbows and knees of the guests who were making their way upright. "Are you hurt?" she asked Sukey.

  "I'm quite unharmed-no need to worry, Lady Muriel." Mr. Ambrose arrived at Muriel's elbow, brushing at the sleeves of his jacket.

  "I am so gratified to hear that, sir. If you would please be so good as to step aside." Muriel moved in front of him, leaning down once again to help Susan to her feet.

  "Ouch!" Susan pulled her hand from Muriel's. "My arm. Oh, it hurts! I must have fallen on it."

  "It's not broken, is it?"

  "I don't think so" Susan slid her glove toward her wrist to check where she was experiencing the pain.

  "Allow me to examine your arm, if you please." Mr. Stanley took hold of Susan's hand, assuming control over her well-being.

  "Yes, Stanley's the very man for it." Mr. Ambrose drew Muriel gently back by her shoulders.