Lady Jane's Ribbons

by Sandra Wilson

  For a moment there was uproar, the whole street turning to see what was happening. Dogs began to bark excitedly and Henry’s team danced around, only just held in check by the tight reins.

  The young gentleman on the Nonpareil’s box recognized Henry and half rose to his feet. ‘I thay, Felbwidge, thith ain’t the thing, you know!’ he protested.

  ‘You stay out of this!’ snapped Henry, flicking his whip expertly within inches of one of the excited dogs, which had come unwisely close to the phaeton’s leaders. Then he held Sewell’s sly-looking eyes. ‘There’s more where this has come from, Sewell, and if you attempt to overturn the Iron Duke again, you’ll be sorry. Is that clear?’

  The coachman swallowed, his lean figure motionless as he met the accusing gaze squarely enough. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord earl. Overturn the Iron Duke?’ He spread his hands with an innocent smile, and Jane distrusted him immediately.

  Henry wasn’t finished. ‘You’ve been warned, Sewell, and you can tell Chapman that I’ll brook no more interference of any kind. Do you hear?’

  ‘I hear. Why don’t you stick to your pretty Four-in-Hand, my lord, and leave the real thing to the professionals?’ The man smiled, knowing the taunt had found its target.

  Henry’s hands tightened on the reins, but Jane looked warningly at him. ‘You’ve issued your warning, can’t we leave it at that?’ she whispered urgently.

  For a moment more he held the coachman’s eyes, but then urged the phaeton’s team forward once more, and to Jane’s utmost relief, the light vehicle sprang effortlessly out of the Nonpareil’s path.

  She clung to the side of the seat again as the phaeton swayed out of Snow Hill, weaving its way past wagons and hackney coaches as if endowed with wings. At last she felt sufficiently recovered to be angry with him. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Henry Derwent? How could you do something so utterly foolish?’

  ‘It had to be done; they tried to run me off the road last week.’

  ‘And this morning you nearly finished the job for them! What if that coachman hadn’t been able to stop in time?’

  ‘George Sewell’s the best in the business. He’d stop on a halfpenny if necessary.’

  ‘I’m glad you can be so sure.’

  ‘I am. Look, sis, you’re blowing this up out of all proportion.’

  ‘Henry, I don’t think I’m the one doing that.’

  He slowed the phaeton almost to a trot, giving her his full attention for a moment. ‘I’m a coachmaster now, Jane. I’m the owner of the Fleece inn and the operator of the Iron Duke. Last week, Chapman attempted to force me into a ditch on Reigate Hill, and that can only mean I’m threatening his coach’s supremacy on the road. It was meant to warn me off, but it hasn’t worked. He had me off the route for two days, but that was all. I’ll have him yet, and he’s going to be swallowing an awful lot of the Iron Duke’s dust before I’m finished with him.’

  ‘If Mr Chapman’s efforts don’t succeed in turning your coach over on top of you first. Henry, you’re playing with fire. It’s going beyond a mere passion for coaching when you take on such an adversary.’

  ‘I’m going to better him, Jane, and I’ll do it on Midsummer Day, you mark my words.’

  ‘He might yet decide to refuse your challenge,’ she said hopefully.

  ‘What, and lose face? Not a chance. Besides, today’s little incident will soon be relayed to him, and he’ll be hopping mad about it.’

  There was no reasoning with him, not where coaching was concerned. Oh, how she wished he’d never gone to that dinner two years before when he’d met Lord Sefton and become embroiled in the Four-in-Hand Club. It had all stemmed from that, getting worse and worse until they’d reached this present ridiculous situation, where he lived and breathed only for his precious ribbons.

  He said nothing more, touching the whip to the leaders again and urging them more swiftly through the traffic, threading deftly past a cumbersome brewer’s dray and passing between a gig and a cart laden with vegetables with only inches to spare on either side. The Phaeton’s fine horses didn’t check or hesitate; they moved at a bold pace which drew much admiration from all who saw them. Henry grinned proudly at her. ‘A rare team, eh? The finest set of cattle in England.’

  She was still exasperated with him. ‘Yes,’ she replied tersely, ‘and they’re driven by the most bone-headed ox.’

  He merely grinned all the more, flicking the whip and bringing the phaeton up to breakneck pace again. At last he halted with a flourish outside the four-story red brick building where Madame Louise, one of London’s most fashionable couturières, occupied the whole of the top floor with her flourishing business, her presence indicated only by the discreet display of millinery in the windows.

  Henry vaulted from the phaeton and came around to assist his sister down. ‘There, madam,’ he said, still grinning, ‘you’ve been conveyed with supreme style right to the very door.’

  ‘I’d thank you not to look so immensely pleased with yourself, for that was the most disagreeable journey I’ve ever experienced.’ She looked past him then along the pavement, a sixth sense warning her of approaching trouble. She immediately saw the form that trouble was taking, for walking along the street toward them was none other than the proprietor of the Nonpareil, Mr Edward Chapman.

  He was a wiry little man of about forty-five, with a jutting, narrow chin, a wide forehead, and high cheekbones. He had once been a stockbroker, until three extremely fortunate marriages to rich widows had left him with sufficient wealth to purchase a coaching business and embark upon the career which had made him the most important coaching man in the whole land. His hair was a nondescript, mousy color, and he wore it with large, bushy side-whiskers. His clever eyes were like bright brown beads, and set as they were above that odious smile, it seemed a miracle to Jane that any woman could accept him in marriage, let alone three. His taste in clothes was gaudy, to say the least, and today he had chosen a light blue coat and yellow waistcoat, a blue-and-white-spotted neckcloth, rust-colored breeches, and gleaming black boots. His wide-brimmed top hat was pulled forward on his head, and he swung a particularly handsome ivory-handled cane in his kid-gloved hands. Jane had met him only once, and the experience had been more than enough to make her dislike him intensely. She had no intention whatsoever of risking a second meeting, and so she hastily took her leave of Henry, who promised to wait for her.

  As she hurried toward the door of the building, she heard Chapman’s thin, nasal voice. ‘Why, good morning, my lord earl, and a very fine morning it is, too.’

  Madame Louise’s fitting room was an untidy place, cluttered with half-finished garments and strewn with bolts of fine cloth, cards of lace, and tray after tray of buttons, spangles, fringes, and many other fashionable trimmings. Gowns, pelisses, and spencers hung on hangers on the picture rail, and someone had evidently been trying to decide upon a particular shade of pink gauze, for samples of this material in every degree of that color lay on the sunny windowsill beneath the display of hats and bonnets.

  The dressmaker herself was small and dark, but although she looked very French, she came from Edinburgh, and spoke with a decidedly Scottish accent. She always wore charcoal-gray taffeta, which rustled as if it were trying to attract attention, and her hair was pushed up very severely beneath a heavily embroidered day bonnet, making her long nose look almost beaky.

  While an assistant was sent to bring the ballgown from the workroom, where it was being sewn with hundreds of tiny, clear glass beads, Jane went to the window to look down at the street below. The phaeton was still drawn up at the curb, and Henry and Chapman were standing beside it, engaged in what appeared to be a rather heated conversation.

  She had to put them from her mind then, for the gown was brought and it was time to try it on. It was particularly beautiful, made of the softest and most delicate cream silk, its hem padded to make it stand out a little. The overgown was of sheer cream net, and it was this whic
h was being stitched with the glass beads, not all of which seemed to be in place as yet. The decolletage was deliciously low and daring, and the little puffed sleeves had an edging of beads which winked and flashed in the shaft of sunlight streaming into the room.

  Jane gazed delightedly at her reflection in the cheval glass. ‘Oh, Madame Louise,’ she breathed, ‘it’s the most beautiful gown I’ve ever had from you.’

  The dressmaker nodded with some satisfaction. ‘I believe it’s my finest creation ever, Lady Jane.’

  ‘I shall steal Miss Lyndon’s thunder at the ball tonight. It will be ready for tonight, won’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It fits quite perfectly, and there are only the beads to sew on. I’ll have it delivered to South Audley Street this afternoon.’

  Shortly afterward, Jane was dressed in her own clothes again and with the dressmaker’s repeated promise that the ballgown would be delivered in good time, she descended the many stairs to the ground floor of the building, emerging onto the pavement to halt in disbelief, for of Henry and the phaeton there was no sign at all!

  She glanced swiftly up and down the busy street, but she couldn’t see him anywhere. For a moment she was nonplussed, but then a flush of anger swept over her. He’d forgotten her! Something had happened because of his encounter with Chapman, and his passion for coaching had once again taken over completely. He’d simply driven off and left her to fend for herself!

  She was about to go back to the dressmaker to ask her to send a man for a chaise from the post house in nearby Fleet Street, when an elegant maroon town carriage suddenly drew up at the curb beside her.

  The occupant lowered the glass to address her. ‘Good morning, Jane, am I right in thinking you’re in some difficulty?’ She looked up into Lewis Ardenley’s clear gray eyes.

  FIVE

  He smiled at her startled reaction, and flung open the carriage door to step lightly down. He wore a dark blue, high-collared coat with a sprig of forget-me-nots in the buttonhole, and his hair was very golden in the sunlight as he removed his top hat. ‘I was wondering if I could be of any assistance to you?’

  ‘None at all, sir.’

  ‘Allow me a little common sense, Jane, for it’s quite obvious to me that Henry has let you down. Oh, don’t look so astonished. I’m not clairvoyant, it’s just that I happened to drive past a short while ago and saw him in extremely animated conversation with Mr Edward Chapman. He then departed at speed in his highflyer and as I’d already noticed that they’d been talking outside this establishment, I remembered your remarks last night and put two and two together. He’s rushed off on some vital matter connected with his kind of ribbons, and has left you attending to yours. Am I right?’

  Reluctantly, she nodded. ‘I think so; there doesn’t seem to be any other explanation for his sudden disappearance.’

  ‘My carriage is at your disposal.’

  ‘No, Lewis, I would prefer to have Madame Louise’s man procure a chaise from the post house in Fleet Street.’

  ‘Why go to all that trouble when I can so easily return by way of South Audley Street?’

  ‘Because I don’t wish to accept any assistance from you, sir, and because I certainly don’t wish to travel in the close confinement of a carriage with you.’

  ‘Your high horse can be very high indeed, can’t it?’

  ‘Do you really expect anything else after what you did?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘No?’ Her eyes flickered scornfully. ‘Allow me a little more credit, sir.’

  ‘Credit? Why should I, when you’ve always shown yourself to be singularly lacking in common sense. You revealed that sad failing six months ago, and now you’re doing it again. You’ve been stranded here and my carriage awaits, so either you get in of your own accord, or I’ll bundle you in without any ceremony at all, is that quite clear? I will not leave you on your own.’ He folded his arms, holding her mutinous gaze. ‘I’m waiting, Jane, so pray don’t provoke my patience too far.’

  She gave in then, angrily snatching her skirts to climb up into the carriage. She sat in the farthest corner, her eyes stubbornly averted to avoid any possibility of catching his glance and provoking conversation.

  He instructed the coachman to drive to South Audley Street and then climbed in too, closing the door behind him. The carriage lurched away from the curb and drove slowly on down the busy city street.

  They traveled in silence at first, but she knew that there was a mocking smile on his lips as he studied her angry profile. At last he spoke. ‘What an infuriating way you have with you, Jane. I wonder if you realize how very provocative it can be.’

  ‘I neither know nor care, sir.’

  ‘There was a time—’

  ‘That was before I found out about your highborn belle de nuit.’

  ‘Alicia is not a belle de nuit.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll say next that she wears a habit and resides in a nunnery.’

  ‘You would appear to have used your six months in Cheshire to perfect the art of sarcasm.’

  ‘No, sir, I used it to reflect upon how very foolish and gullible I’d been. Did you honestly expect me to believe you when you said those long hours you spent with Alicia were purely platonic? She hasn’t got a platonic bone in her body, especially not with a man like you!’

  ‘If I dig deep enough in that, I do believe I will find a compliment concerning my person.’

  ‘You will also find my irritation at your dreary insistence that you are all innocence. Tell me, did you and she enjoy a platonic time in Paris?’

  ‘My, my, word does travel.’

  ‘It was mentioned in passing in one of Blanche Lyndon’s letters.’

  ‘In passing? How unflattering! I would have thought it warranted at least a page, possibly even two.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question. I understand you didn’t encumber yourself with much of any value for the trip; you took with you only a very little baggage. Baggage indeed.’

  He smiled. ‘For someone who claims to be so little affected by what I say or do, you seem inordinately interested in my private life.’

  She flushed at that. ‘It’s idle curiosity, no more.’

  ‘Idleness is not to be recommended, so I shall not show encouragement by pandering to it.’

  She looked out of the window again, wishing with all her heart that he didn’t have such a devastating effect upon her. She envied Alicia every moment spent in his arms, and she longed more than anything to feel his lips over hers again and to hear that seductive softness in his voice when he whispered her name…. Her eyes flashed then. What a fool she was – she should despise him!

  South Audley Street was still in uproar because of the queen’s supporters. The coachman eased the horses through the crush, taking several minutes to reach the curb outside the Derwent residence.

  Lewis didn’t immediately open the carriage door, but looked at Jane again. ‘Perhaps I should tell you that I’ll be at the ball tonight, with Alicia.’

  ‘It’s no concern of mine, sir.’

  ‘Is Charles Moncarm escorting you?’

  ‘I really don’t see why I should tell you.’

  ‘I still want to know.’

  ‘No, Charles isn’t escorting me tonight, but I do expect to see him there. Will that suffice?’

  ‘Are you going to accept him?’

  She gave him a cool smile. ‘No, Lewis, I think I’ll become his mistress and then pretend to the world that I’m no such thing. Now then, will you please let me alight?’ Her glance rested briefly on the forget-me-nots in his lapel. ‘The symbol of true love and fidelity? How singularly inappropriate!’

  He caught her wrist, his gray eyes very bright. ‘Pride is a perverse emotion, it can save one from humiliation or it can plunge one into the depths of needless misery. You have far too much of the wrong kind of pride, Jane Derwent, and it will please me immensely when one day you’re forced to admit it!’ He released her, opening the do
or and stepping down to the noise and clamor of the street.

  The cheering and wild chanting echoed deafeningly between the elegant Mayfair houses, but she hardly heard a thing as she alighted, ignoring his outstretched hand and hurrying into the house, blinking back the tears which had once again sprung hotly to her eyes.

  For once, Melville had been caught unawares by her return, but as he hurried into the vestibule she managed to present an outward calm. ‘Has the earl returned?’ she inquired, teasing off her gloves and dropping them onto the console table beside the vase of carnations brought that morning from the market garden in Chelsea.

  ‘The earl? Why, no, my lady, I thought he was with you.’

  ‘So did I, but he has apparently taken himself on some other business.’

  ‘Will he be here for luncheon, my lady?’

  ‘I really have no idea, but I somehow rather doubt it.’

  She was right. Henry didn’t return for luncheon, and as the afternoon began to wear on with still no sign of him, she began to fear that whatever business it was which was occupying him would once again dominate him to the exclusion of all else, including the ball that night! As the clock struck four, she asked Melville to send a man to the Fleece in Thames Street, in the hope of finding her wayward brother and prompting him to return. An hour passed and the man came back to tell her that Henry had gone to Brighton, driving the Iron Duke himself.

  Jane stared at him in dismay. ‘Brighton?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘When is he expected back?’ She hardly dared ask.

  ‘They couldn’t say, my lady. I left word, and if he does return he’ll be told straightaway.’