Lady Jane's Ribbons

by Sandra Wilson

  Suddenly, Lewis moved his position and she could see him at last, his hair very golden indeed in the soft glow of the chandelier. Gazing down secretly at him, she was conscious of the familiar, bewildering rush of emotion she’d experienced the very first time she’d seen him. She’d loved him then, and she loved him still.

  He was taller than Henry, with broad shoulders and slender hips, and it was not without reason that he was spoken of as the most handsome man in society. His face was romantically classic and his complexion bronzed from many hours spent in the open air. He had long-lashed gray eyes which always seemed to have a hint of devilment in them, and his smile possessed an air of sensuality which played havoc with even the most frosty female hearts. The warm, almost lazy charm of that smile promised so very much that the prospect of being alone with him had lured many a hitherto chaste young lady from the paths of innocence; it had lured Lady Jane Derwent to the depths of unhappiness.

  He and Henry paused to talk for a moment at the foot of the curving marble staircase, allowing her even more time to study him without his knowing. How effortlessly elegant he was, his taste so perfect at all times. Like Henry, he wore a tight black evening coat, but its buttons were silver and its collar just high enough to touch the hair at the back of his head. His long legs were encased in close-fitting white trousers, and there was an emerald pin nestling in the folds of his unstarched silk neckcloth. His white satin waistcoat was left partly unbuttoned to reveal the fine lace trimming of the shirt beneath, and a discreet bunch of seals swung from his fob. His looks would have set him apart in any gathering, no matter how superior, but with hair of such a bright gold, he was memorable. He was thirty years old, charming, amusing, exceedingly wealthy, and confident of acceptance in any company; he was also faithless, cold-hearted, and unkind, and loving him had been a bitterly painful experience which would remain with her for the rest of her life.

  Henry looked up suddenly and saw the paleness of her cream dress. ‘Jane? Is that you?’

  She stepped reluctantly into view at the top of the staircase. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you all right? We came as quickly as we could.’ He glanced a little uncertainly at Lewis and then came swiftly up the stairs toward her. ‘I had no idea you were returning two days early. You should have written.’

  ‘I did write.’ He was avoiding her eyes, which meant that he had indeed received her letter but had forgotten all about it. No doubt, he’d been too taken up with his wretched coaching to think about such a mundane matter as her return!

  Outside, the mob became suddenly noisier as some unfortunate attracted its displeasure. At the sound of more breaking glass, Henry looked quickly down at Lewis, who hadn’t moved from the foot of the staircase. ‘Come on up, we’ll adjourn to the blue saloon. It’s at the back of the house and is bound to be more peaceful.’

  Jane gave her brother a furious look, for the last thing she wanted was to sit in polite conversation with the man who had treated her so infamously, but Henry didn’t notice her anger, or affected not to notice it, and drew her hand through his arm to walk to the white-and-gold doors of the main reception chamber.

  Lewis hesitated, toying with the lace spilling from his cuff. He hadn’t missed Jane’s reaction, but they had to meet each other sooner or later. Perhaps it would be wise to get the first confrontation over and done with as soon as possible. He came slowly up the staircase.

  The blue saloon lived up to its name, having walls hung with the finest Chinese silk and sofas upholstered in the richest sapphire blue velvet. It had a gilded ceiling from which were suspended no fewer than three dazzling French crystal chandeliers, and the Adam fireplace was fashioned from a blue-veined marble which seemed to reflect whatever light surrounded it. There were four tall windows overlooking the ornamental gardens at the rear of the house. Reaching from floor to ceiling, they opened onto a covered, wrought-iron balcony where in summer it had long been the family custom to take tea or liqueurs after dinner. The fringed, golden velvet curtains were drawn now and the room was very quiet indeed after the noise which seemed to permeate the rest of the house. Lit only by the two ornate girandoles on either side of the chimney breast, everything was dim and shadowy, with the glint of gold and fine porcelain shimmering in the two immense glass cabinets in the recesses beside the fireplace.

  Jane was stiff and cold as Henry escorted her to the nearest sofa, and he could no longer ignore her manner. He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. ‘You’re in a sour mood, sis. Didn’t Cheshire agree with you?’

  ‘This has nothing to do with Cheshire,’ she hissed back, ‘as well you know, Henry Derwent! Are you really surprised that I’m less than thrilled to be confronted with Lewis Ardenley on my first night back?’

  He refrained from saying any more for the time being, handing her to her place on the sofa and then going to the console table behind it to pour some cognac. He raised the decanter inquiringly to Lewis as he came in. ‘A glass of restorative?’

  Lewis nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  Jane looked away. How well she remembered his voice, light and yet firm. It was a voice which had haunted her dreams.

  Henry handed Lewis his glass and then looked reprovingly at his sister. ‘Jane, I know why you’re angry, but perhaps you should know that if it hadn’t been for Lewis I wouldn’t have known you were back.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have remembered I was back, you mean,’ she replied.

  ‘What does it matter? The fact is that I was at Brooks’s and would be there still if Lewis hadn’t heard about the mob at Wood’s house and remembered seeing your carriage returning early this evening.’

  Her violet-blue gaze rested fleetingly on Lewis and then moved away again. She didn’t reply.

  Henry was exasperated. ‘Jane….’ he began.

  Lewis shook his head warningly, not wanting him to pursue the point.

  Henry glanced at him, but then returned his attention to his sister. ‘Jane, you’re being a little unfair tonight, and I begin to wish I’d stayed with the backgammon; my luck was in. Anyway, why did you return two days early?’

  Lewis turned away with a silent groan, for he knew full well what her answer was going to be. There were times when Henry Derwent seemed hellbent upon putting his handsome head on the block.

  Jane looked coldly at her brother. ‘Henry,’ she said with ominous calm, ‘I haven’t returned two days early. You were under the impression that I was coming back two days later than I actually was. I realized that when I received that hastily scribbled note which masqueraded under the title of a letter. Where did you write it? In the stables at the Fleece? Wherever it was, you had barely enough time to dash off a polite greeting.’

  ‘It was a perfectly acceptable letter, written right here, if you must know.’

  ‘Then I’m appalled at your notion of an acceptable letter, Henry Derwent. But we’re digressing, aren’t we? You asked me why I’ve returned today.’

  ‘And I’m waiting for your answer.’

  ‘Evidently, you’ve forgotten your promise to take me to Madame Louise’s tomorrow for the final fitting of my new ballgown.’

  Henry stared at her, light slowly dawning on him. Lewis raised his eyes heavenward. Pray your last, monsieur, Madame Guillotine is about to severe your fool head from your shoulders.

  Jane’s smile was sweet. ‘And if you’ve forgotten the ballgown, Henry, you must have also forgotten the occasion for which it was ordered.’

  He drew a long, slow breath. ‘Oh lord,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes, well you might say that. How could I possibly be returning in two days’ time when Blanche’s birthday ball is tomorrow night? You’d forgotten all about it, hadn’t you? I couldn’t believe my eyes when that miserable note arrived at Derwent Park. After all the silly mistakes you’ve been making with poor Blanche, you’ve actually gone so far as to forget all about one of the most important social occasions of her year! I’m ashamed of you, Henry Derwent. In fact, I’d go further than th
at and say that I despair of you! What was it this time? Has the Iron Duke been losing to its rivals on the Brighton road? Or has Lord Sefton been involving you in the activities of the Four-in-Hand? What is it, mm? Come now, don’t be coy, you know it has something to do with your wretched coaching. You aren’t capable of thinking about anything else these days.’

  ‘It was the annual race to Brighton on Midsummer Day,’ he admitted unwisely.

  ‘Really? Well now, I’ll warrant the Duke of Dursley hasn’t been devoting his time to something as dull as a stagecoach race.’

  ‘Dursley? What on earth has he got to do with it?’

  ‘He’s pursuing your fiancée,’ she replied, ‘but then you’ve probably been too busy jaunting off to Brighton to notice.’

  ‘For someone who’s been away for six months you seem to know a great deal,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Blanche and I correspond regularly,’ she replied. ‘I know all about your many sins, Henry Derwent. Still, I suppose that if this is the company you’ve been keeping of late, your monstrous lack of consideration can easily be explained.’ She glanced at Lewis.

  Henry was appalled. ‘Jane!’

  Lewis merely raised his glass, smiling just a little. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again too, Jane,’ he murmured.

  She was glad of the dim lighting, which concealed the swift flush which sprang to her cheeks. ‘Six months don’t appear to have improved you, sir. You’re still smooth and disagreeable.’

  ‘And you’re still impetuous,’ he replied quietly.

  Henry was glad the focus of attention had been diverted, but was still aghast at Jane’s personal attack. ‘Jane, that’s quite enough!’ he protested.

  She raised her chin defiantly, her violet-blue eyes very stormy indeed.

  Lewis put out a hand to silence Henry further. ‘It’s all right, Henry. I believe I’ve outstayed my welcome and should toddle along.’

  Henry hesitated, looking furiously at his unrepentant sister, then he nodded at Lewis. ‘I’ll come down with you.’

  As they left the room, Jane leaned her head wearily back against the sofa’s soft blue velvet. She closed her eyes to hold back the hot tears, but they welled miserably from beneath her lids. ‘Oh, Lewis, Lewis,’ she whispered to the empty room, ‘I love you so.’

  Melville was waiting patiently in the vestibule as the two men descended the staircase. Henry apologized to Lewis for Jane’s behavior. ‘I’m sorry, I thought she’d be over all that by now.’

  The butler handed Lewis his hat, gloves, and cane and then withdrew, realizing that the two would talk for a while longer. Lewis looked at Henry. ‘Don’t be hard on her. She obviously thinks she had just cause to condemn me. I shouldn’t have come here tonight; it was a gross error of judgment on my part.’

  ‘But damn it all, it’s been six months since—’

  ‘Since I deceived her with the Duchess of Brantingham?’

  It was the first time he’d said anything about the scandal which had terminated his betrothal to Jane, and so Henry looked quizzically at him.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’ve always believed what you told Jane at the time – that there was no foundation in the rumor. The fact that Alicia is your mistress now is neither here nor there.’

  Lewis smiled. ‘Then perhaps we should leave it at that, mm?’

  ‘Is old Brantingham likely to grant her a divorce?’

  Lewis hesitated. ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why,’ replied Henry bluntly, ‘for you aren’t the first lover she’s taken, are you?’

  ‘Have a care, dear boy; the lady is a friend of mine.’

  ‘Forgive me, but I just don’t see her as being the right one for you.’

  Lewis’s smile was enigmatic. ‘Do you think she sees me as being the right one for her?’

  Henry was a little taken aback. ‘Eh? Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  Henry was a little exasperated. ‘You don’t intend to discuss this, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then maybe you’d prefer to discuss Charles Moncarm?’

  ‘And why, pray, should the dear, honorable Marquis of Bourton be a burning topic of conversation?’

  ‘Because he’s once more on the point of popping the question to Jane.’

  ‘Again? He’s becoming a little tedious.’

  ‘Maybe so, but this time I think she’ll accept.’

  Lewis studied him for a moment. ‘Why should she do that when she’s always turned him down before?’

  ‘I don’t know. Actually, it was Blanche who said that she thought Jane would.’

  ‘And we all know that except where you’re concerned, Blanche is a very perceptive lady.’

  ‘Precisely. Eh? Now look here, don’t you start on me. It’s bad enough having Jane back to torment me all the time.’

  ‘Perhaps you need tormenting.’

  ‘Rubbish. Blanche is quite content.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You must be feeling secure. I’ve seen Dursley’s curricle outside the Lyndon residence almost every day recently.’

  ‘Blanche is too sensible to be fooled by a fortune-hunting libertine like Dursley.’

  ‘The ladies are said to find him pretty enough.’

  ‘Maybe he is, if the eye can perceive real flesh and blood behind all the powder and paint. He’s a dissolute fop, too shallow by far to impress Blanche.’

  ‘Let’s trust you’re right.’

  ‘I am. By the way, I almost forgot, Sefton’s charged me to ask you again to return to the Four-in-Hand fold. We want you back, Lewis, for although it grieves me to admit it, you’re still the best whip in England.’

  ‘Coaching bores me these days, Henry, so you can tell Sefton what he can do with his Four-in-Hand, teams, axles, wheels, ribbons and all.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ replied Henry, a little miffed.

  ‘Not at all. Besides, having witnessed the feeble fist you made of it tonight with your damned phaeton, I rather think the standard of the club must have slipped far too much for me to even consider lowering myself to rejoin.’

  Henry was most indignant at such unfair criticism. ‘Feeble fist? There’s a near riot going on out there and although my six might be the best blood cattle in the land, such circumstances strained even their courage!’

  Lewis grinned at having so easily provoked him.

  Henry looked sheepish then. ‘Go to hell,’ he muttered.

  Lewis tapped him on the shoulder with the silver handle of his cane. ‘I’ve had enough of coaching, Henry, and I don’t want anything more to do with it.’

  ‘Then why do you keep such an immense stable at Maywood?’

  ‘Horses are one thing, coaches quite another. My disillusionment with coaching has been taken for an act in some quarters, but that’s not the case. Coaching is a pastime which I’ve realized can only too easily become an obsession, and in your case, my friend, that’s clearly exactly what has happened. Take a word of advice and think carefully about Jane’s criticism of your recent conduct. She’s right, you don’t think about anything other than your wretched ribbons. Your reputation as the world’s boldest whip is allowed to take precedence over absolutely everything else, and if you continue in this vein, you’ll lose Blanche Lyndon to Dursley. It’s coaching or your future wife, one or the other, but not both. You do love Blanche, don’t you?’

  Henry was a little put out that such a question should even be asked. ‘You know that I do.’

  ‘Then behave like it.’

  ‘I am, dammit!’

  ‘Are you? How many times recently have you deigned to even call upon her?’

  ‘I, er, don’t know.’

  ‘No, because you’ve been wrapped up in this damned Midsummer Day race to Brighton. I take it that all the other coaches have withdrawn now that you and Chapman have made it a personal challen
ge.’

  Henry looked a little mutinous. ‘The race is important to me.’

  ‘Too important. Edward Chapman is the most formidable and most ruthless coachmaster in London, and until you and your Iron Duke came along, he regarded the Brighton road as his personal kingdom, where lesser coaches were tolerated but no more. Now you’re there, springing your cattle like something demented, cutting his times, stealing his fares, and offering more luxury than his Nonpareil can ever hope to.’

  ‘Chapman’s been heading for a fall for some time now. His methods aren’t exactly legal, are they?’

  ‘Which makes you all that much more of a fool to try taking him on. He hasn’t made the Black Horse the most important inn in the city by abiding by all the gentlemanly rules. He’s renowned for his dangerous methods, and the fact that all the other coachmasters have withdrawn from the race should warn you of what to expect.’

  ‘The Iron Duke’s going to trounce his Nonpareil. I’ve already ordered a new coach from Henry & William Powell.’

  Lewis gave a wry laugh. ‘Bond Street? They make a fine landau, I’ll grant you, but a racing stagecoach?’

  ‘The order’s been placed.’

  ‘More fool you. I hear that Sefton’s agreed to marshal the race.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll warrant his money’s on the Nonpareil.’

  ‘Sefton’s impartial.’

  ‘In a pig’s eye! He can’t cross the road without wagering on whether he’ll reach the other side or not!’ Lewis was more serious then. ‘Forget the race, Henry, it’s not worth the risk.’

  ‘I can handle Chapman.’

  Lewis searched his face. ‘I trust you can, my friend, because if not, you’re going to find yourself in all manner of trouble.’

  ‘I’m going to win that race, Lewis.’

  ‘I wash my hands of you. Feud with Chapman if you must, cut a dash to end all dashes by risking your very life, spring your crack coach all the way to Brighton and back as if the devil himself is on your tail, and curse with the most vulgar knights of the road, but don’t come whining to me when Blanche throws you over for Dursley. Believe me, Henry, if you carry on as you are at present, she’s going to give you your congé, and it will serve you right.’