A Grand Deception

by Shirley Marks

  "He may have some of the clothing I've ordered on hand." Sherwin knew his departure from Town had been made in haste, and his purchases might well lie at the tailor shop undelivered.

  "That's the spirit!" Freddie cheered. "I'll dispatch a note and have Weston send over a set of evening clothes."

  "At this hour?" Sherwin reeled at Freddie's audacity of summoning a shopkeeper as if on a whim. "He's bound to have closed his shop by now."

  "He'd jolly well better come if he knows what's good for him." Freddie did not sound as if he were joking.

  "There's paper, ink, and a quill over there." Sherwin gestured toward the writing desk Signore Biondi had used earlier.

  "How much time do we have? What hour is it?" Freddie pulled up a chair and set to work.

  "I have no idea; I had to trade my pocket watch for passage on the mail coach." Sherwin turned about, squinting in his search for a mantel clock, which, at this distance, he could read. "Nearly eight."

  "We need to hurry." Freddie handed the note to Giorgio, who alerted Marcello to make the delivery. "I've just had another thought." Taking up the quill, he motioned in the air before penning a second missive. "I'll send for Sturgis, my father's valet. We'll need his talent along with a supply of starched linens to-" He wriggled his fingers in the general area of his throat. "Just in case, you know. Bound to have problems there."

  Apparently Lewis was not the only valet who struggled with the crafting of cravats.

  "I think we'll have him bring a quizzing glass for youit'll help you see, won't it?" Freddie lifted his head, waiting for Sherwin's response.

  "Somewhat." Sherwin vowed that he would not be without one, even when he wore his spectacles.

  "Good." With the second correspondence dried, folded, and sealed, Freddie handed it to Giorgio for delivery. "You'll need to bathe before either one of them arrives," he told Sherwin, "You're wearing an entire day's travel."

  Sherwin glanced down at himself. He had to agree, he was filthy. Muriel might not care about his appearance, but he felt quite certain her family would. He had to remember, he had not yet gained permission from His Grace to wed his daughter.

  "All right, off you go, then." Freddie waved him away. "I expect you've got vouchers to Almack's, right? Hate to go through this exercise only to find you won't be welcome at the front door."

  Taking the stairs up to the first floor, Sherwin felt more nervous attending Almack's this evening than he had at the opening night last week. He stopped midway up the staircase and stared at the Hessians on his feet. "Wait a momentcan't wear these in. What am Ito do?"

  "If you hadn't insisted we dash off the instant Sturgis had his back turned, before he'd finished giving you a polish," Freddie scolded, "you wouldn't be asking!"

  "He was taking forever." Sherwin, who had been appreciative of his friend and his father's valet, could not help but complain. "We'd never have left the house if we hadn't bolted."

  "Sturgis never would have missed this. Been given the sack if he had, I daresay." Freddie paused only long enough to size up their situation and replied, "Look here, of man. We've about the same size feet, what? Take mine." He kicked off his black dancing slippers, abandoning them.

  Sherwin reached downward to grab hold of his left boot, but the tight fit of his jacket held him immobile.

  "That's no good. You'll never be able to manage." Standing in his stocking feet, Freddie latched on to the toe and heel of one Hessian and pulled while Sherwin held on to the handrail.

  After a few sizeable yanks, it came off. Freddie dropped it to the floor, and it landed with a muffled thud. He went to work on the right boot, which came off with the same amount of effort, and it was deposited near the first in short order.

  With a fluid motion, Sherwin easily slid into the dress slippers and made to continue on his way up the staircase.

  With a hand to Sherwin's arm, Freddie slowed their progress. He had already pushed his foot into the first boot and then stepped into the other, hopping his way precariously up the staircase after Sherwin.

  "Hold on-the blasted things are a bit snugger than I expected" He reached down to adjust them on his feet and nearly tipped over. "What time is it now?"

  "Sorry." Sherwin didn't know what he could do about the Earl's discomfort now, but if they did not hurry, neither one would be allowed to enter. "I haven't a-"

  Freddie glanced down at the watch he'd extracted from his vest pocket. "Zounds-it's dashed near eleven. We'd best get a move on. They close the doors then, don't you know?" He kept a firm hold of Sherwin, preventing him from moving forward. "I'll be barred from admittance in any case in these cursed boots. Look here, I'll create a diversion. When they go for me, you slip in on the side, got that? You keep a careful lookout."

  Sherwin didn't know how he'd manage to bypass the Patronesses without being seen, but he'd have to give it a go.

  Freddie waved him to the side, and Sherwin flattened himself against the wall, inching his way toward the front portal, being mindful not to be seen.

  Not merely marching but strutting with definite purpose toward the entrance, Freddie bid the sentry a hearty "Hallo" The steward motioned for the footman, in turn, to detain the tardy guest and summon one of the Patronesses to deal with the dress code infraction.

  "Oh, come now, do be a good fellow and allow me to sit while I wait. These things fit most abominably." Freddie grimaced, making a great fuss over the boots.

  The footman acquiesced, and Freddie sat against the wall, where he was watched most carefully by the second footman attending the portal.

  "My Lord Brent." Lady Jersey approached the Earl. "I simply cannot believe this. I know you are well aware that Hessians are forbidden."

  "No matter, Sally," Mrs. Drummond-Burrell intoned, joining their gathering. "It is past eleven. He cannot enter."

  "Past eleven? Only just." Freddie made a big show of flourishing his pocket watch, doing what he could to attract as much attention as he could, and with his other hand he waved for Sherwin to make his move.

  Sherwin slipped in unnoticed, clearing the first obstacle. He moved past the crimson ropes that separated the entry area from the dancers; now all he need do was locate Muriel somewhere within. Never had his long-sightedness served him so well. Sherwin worked his way from the right side of the first room to the left side, moving from familiar face to unknown face until such time as he would positively identify his-

  There she was, looking a veritable angel dressed all in white. So very beautiful. All the effort, hardship, and difficulties he had endured trudging to London-seeing her now was worth every effort he had made. Muriel. He felt like shouting, crowing, singing! It was all he could do not to call out to her.

  He had to remain calm. Sherwin moved through the guests, and on his way toward her he could hear a chorus of "Amhurst"s whispered in his wake.

  He did not care who gossiped about him or what they said. By the end of this evening his name and Muriel's would be permanently linked, and everyone could talk about them all they liked.

  Sherwin stopped some distance away from her. The guests around him ebbed, leaving him and Muriel standing to one side of the room.

  A sudden quiet surrounded her, and Muriel glanced around to discern the reason. A man stood at the end of the room.

  Muriel thought she saw Sherwin.

  She blinked. Perhaps she was dreaming. The guests around her seemed to have dissolved, leaving only him standing there alone. At least, it looked like him.

  "Sherwin. . . ," she whispered. She wanted to run into his arms, but her lower limbs refused to obey. She stood there, unable to move, her eyes filled with tears at the joy of seeing him after so long, after so much worrying. Here he was, safe and near.

  At that moment she had no care as to where he had been or how he had come to return to her side. All Muriel cared about was that he was there now. Explanations of his absence would, no doubt, follow in due time.

  He stepped toward her at an unimaginably slow
pace. Why did he not run? Take her in his arms, as she wanted him to do? Did he not know she had been struck immobile?

  "Lady Muriel." His voice cracked in an achingly familiar, emotion-filled tremor.

  "Sherwin," Muriel repeated. He had returned, just as she had known he would if he could.

  A familiar musical interlude announced that the waltz would begin soon.

  "Our dance, I think." He offered her his arm, and she had never been so happy to accept his escort.

  She laid her hand upon his sleeve. He was real, proving she hadn't imagined his presence.

  "I am sorry for the anguish I have inflicted upon you." He stood by her side, ready to perform the promenade. His warm, comforting hand covered hers.

  "I am certain it was not of your doing." Muriel arched her arm over her head and gazed into his wonderfully brown eyes.

  "No, it wasn't," he whispered, gazing into hers. "All I wanted was to return to Town, to find you once more. I promise you, we will be married."

  "To hold you close for this dance will suffice for now." Muriel stepped around him in time to the music, delighting in his proximity.

  "I vow that nothing, no one, will ever separate us again." Sherwin brought his hand to her waist, while she rested her hands upon his shoulders. "You see, my dear, it is true, amore vincit omnia."

  Muriel smiled up at him, again stared into his eyes, and allowed a small, throaty giggle to escape.

  Love did, indeed, conquer all.