An Extraordinary Flirtation

by Maggie MacKeever

She’d probably worry all the more, however, were Nicky entrapped in a marriage with Miss Tumultuous Passions. Colin muttered, “I should have never touched that pig.”

  Fitz kept firm hold of Colin’s arm, just in case he took a notion to bolt. “Come here, Zoe. When Beau enters the room, he’ll find the two of you locked in an embrace.”

  Zoe tripped forward, willingly enough. “What sort of embrace?” Colin inquired suspiciously, “Where will the rest of you be?”

  “In the garden, waiting to make our own entrance, so that Beau won’t be able to pretend he didn’t see what he saw,” answered Ianthe. “I shall inform Widdle to alert us immediately Beau steps through the front door.” She rang for the butler, who was happy to lend his assistance, on the promise of a generous gratuity. Widdle was also happy to see that Squire Anderley’s nose was swelling like a toad. It was Widdle’s opinion that the squire had come by his just desserts when the lady popped his cork, being as he’d been going around bribing servants, and Gawd knew what else.

  “One arm around her waist,” suggested Fitz. “The other—”

  “I’m not going to practice,” Colin protested. “It’s too much to ask.”

  “But we must make it look real or Beau won’t believe us, and then we’ll be back where we started.” Zoe clutched at Colin. “There’s nothing wrong with practicing a little bit. I need to practice if I’m going to have an affaire de coeur.”

  Colin snatched his sleeve away. “You’re no more capable of passion than a gnat.”

  Zoe’s blue eyes widened. “Oh!” she said.

  “On second thought, a gnat might be more capable, because it isn’t likely to fall in love with its own reflection.” Ianthe cleared her throat, and Colin recalled their audience. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Zoe was hardly in a position to hold grudges against people who said things they shouldn’t. She regarded Colin curiously. “You don’t like me much, do you?”

  He frowned at her. “Why should I?”

  Zoe wasn’t used to introspection. She wrinkled her brow. “Why shouldn’t you? I am accomplished, beautiful of course, and quite amiable.”

  Suddenly, she found herself the cynosure of all eyes. “Well I am!”

  “No you ain’t!” said Fitz. “You’re the devil’s spawn. Nicky said so, and he should know.”

  Nick stirred, uncomfortably. “I don’t think I was quite that severe.”

  Zoe awarded him her most melting look. “You don’t think I’m the devil’s spawn?”

  Nick grimaced. “I believe ‘limb of Satan’ was the phrase I used.”

  Zoe stamped her foot. “This exceeds belief! You all must have maggots in your heads.”

  She looked as if she wished to throw something. Colin drew her fire. “Better maggots than windmills. Fitz said how you’re determined to toss your bonnet over one.”

  Zoe cast a smouldering glance at that traitor. But what else could one expect from a man who wore a lilac cravat? “We Loversall women cannot resist the call of passion. Look at Aunt Cara. And Cousin Ianthe.”

  Cara had been wishing that the chair might swallow her up, so ashamed was she of her behavior. At this injustice, however, she roused. “Some of us don’t openly defy the conventions, Zoe. We merely ignore them in private.”

  “Or almost private. Friends don’t count.” Fitz grinned at her. The squire frowned.

  “A fig for privacy!” Zoe clasped her hands to her breast. “I shall know my own True Love immediately our eyes meet across a room. He will be bold and brave and dashing.” She paused. “I wonder if I would prefer that he be light or dark. No matter! Waves of desire will sweep over me, stealing my breath, turning my bones to jelly, and causing my heart to go pit-a-pat. Overset with passion, I shall indulge my baser nature until we both are spent.”

  Paul Anderley looked revolted. “Good Lord,” murmured Ianthe.

  Cara said nothing at all, being deep in the contemplation of True Love, as was Lord Mannering. Colin voiced a hope that he might not get totty-headed for a great many more years.

  “Totty-headed!” Zoe gasped.

  “What else would you call it? Sighing and dying and running about knocking things around like a bunch of insane rabbits. No offense, Lady Norwood!” Cara glanced at Nicky. He winked.

  “I don’t believe a member of the family has been clapped in Bedlam yet,” Ianthe remarked. “Although Great-Uncle Ambrose spent a fair amount of time locked in an attic room because he couldn’t be trusted around the maidservants.” Paul wondered if everyone in the room, save himself, was lunatic.

  Widdle popped his head into the room. “Psst!” he hissed, and disappeared. “Take your places, ladies and gentlemen!” demanded Fitz.

  Zoe regarded her prospective compromiser, who looked singularly unenthusiastic. Although it was highly improper for a young lady to be alone with a gentleman, she doubted that a single circumstance would be sufficient to recompromise her in her papa’s eyes. After all, she had been plopped on top of a gentleman the first time. Some effort was required of Colin. “You may kiss me,” she said, and puckered up.

  No one had explained to Colin that kissing might be required. “I don’t want to.” He backed up a step.

  How could any gentleman not want to kiss her? Zoe eyed him shrewdly. “You’ve never kissed anyone, have you? You’re a—”

  Colin blushed bright red. “Don’t say it!”

  “You are! Well, what of it? So am I. Although I’m supposed to be, and I don’t think you are. As for kissing, there’s nothing to it. I’ll show you."

  Colin backed farther away from her. “No you won’t!”

  “This is no time to be missish!” snapped Zoe, and grabbed Colin by the lapels of his coat.

  Fitz took in the situation at a glance. Nick was rising from the sofa with difficulty, assisted by Cara and Ianthe. Paul was getting to his feet with little less effort, for the movement had made his nose start again to bleed, and he seemed confused as to whether he should tip his head forward or back. Colin was attempting to draw away from Zoe.

  Although this was no scene to undo a betrothal, Fitz did not abandon hope. All the participants needed was a little push. He thrust out the poker, so that the squire tripped over it, then gave the startled Colin a brisk shove. Zoe toppled sideways along with him. Daisy, who had been very restrained throughout all this, succumbed to her canine nature, and leapt upon the pile.

  Beau walked into the room, then, to find his daughter rolling around the floor with two gentlemen and a dog, in front of an audience which included his sister and his cousin, both of whom were draped about Zoe’s own fiancé, as well as Baron Fitzrichard, who raised his quizzing glass and said, “Shocking! I’ve never seen such a thing. I believe—yes, I am almost certain of it!—that I feel a spasm coming on!”

  Chapter 22

  With an elegant flourish, Fitz swooned onto a sofa. Daisy disengaged herself from the tangle of bodies on the floor to run, barking, to Beau. “Down!” he snapped at her, then bellowed, “What the devil is going on here?”

  “Alas!” cried Zoe. “We are caught en flagrante delicto! My good name is ruined!” Just in case it wasn’t yet, she hooked a leg around one gentleman’s knee, and an arm around the other’s neck, and never mind that he was bleeding on her dress.

  “I believe,” remarked Lord Mannering, “that my heart is broken. Perhaps I shall retire to the country while it mends.”

  Beside him, Cara stirred and murmured, “Not to mention your back.” She placed a hand on the small of his spine, and rubbed. He groaned. Ianthe drifted across the room to drape Baron Fitzrichard’s lavender-scented handkerchief across his brow, and wave his vinaigrette beneath his nose. Fitz winked at her, and whispered, “Not as graceful a swoon as yours, I admit it! But effective, don’t you think?”

  Beau pushed Daisy aside. “What good name?” he inquired, as he grasped Zoe’s arms and hauled her to her feet. “You’re a Loversall. But that doesn’t mean you can go around
acting like a Paphian miss! The devil with St. George’s. You’ll be married straightaway.”

  “No, I won’t!” Zoe thrust out her chin. “I don’t wish to stand in the way of True Love, Beau.”

  “I don’t care what you wish!” Beau stared at the two bodies on the floor, one of which was climbing to its feet, while the other lay bleeding on the carpet. “Is that Anderley? He looks queer as Dick’s hatband. Have you killed him, puss?”

  Zoe also looked at the squire, who was looking a little pale, perhaps because of all the blood he’d lost. “No, that was Aunt Cara. We think she might have broken his nose.”

  “The fox up and nipped you, squire?” Beau extended his hand. “You should stick a wad of paper under your lip and pinch your nose. I’d appreciate it if you tried not to drip on the rug.”

  With Beau’s help, Paul stood up. “Wad I should hab is some branby!” he said.

  “Excellent notion. So should I.” Once the masculine ritual of decanter and glasses was completed, Beau gazed around the room, and found his sister rubbing Lord Mannering’s back. The congratulations he had meant to give her on the excellence of her aim—it was Beau who had taught Cara to use her fists, a very long time ago—died in his throat. “Unhand the marquess!” he said instead. “He’s going to marry Zoe at once.”

  Cara stiffened. Nick caught her wrist before she could move away. “No, I think I will not marry her at all. One week in your daughter’s company and I would be fit to strangle her.”

  That’s what came of these long betrothals. The marquess sounded like a man who’d made up his mind, alas. Beau contemplated his daughter’s two latest conquests. Paul Anderley was sprawled on the second sofa. “Don’ book a’ be. I bot boing do barry her!” The paper stuck beneath his upper lip, and the grip he had on the bridge of his nose, had an even more unfortunate effect on the clarity of his speech.

  “Of course he isn’t going to marry me!” Zoe draped herself over the back of Baron Fitzrichard’s couch. “No one’s going to marry me, and the sooner you accept that, the better it will be for everyone, Beau."

  Beau was a long way from acceptance. “Someone is going to marry you!” His gaze moved to Colin, who had retreated to the hearth along with the dog. “Who’s this?”

  “Colin Kennet, my nephew and heir,” said Nick. “He won’t marry her either, because I’ll disinherit him if he does.”

  “I’m not going to marry anyone until I reach the age of reason,” volunteered Colin. “Which from the way things are going looks to be a long way off. And even then I wouldn’t marry her.”

  Zoe turned up her little nose. “You should be so fortunate.”

  Colin snorted. “I should be so cursed.”

  Stung, Zoe pushed out her lower lip. “I suppose you’d prefer a biddable female.”

  Colin petted Daisy, who was inspired by these raised voices to snuggle closer to him for protection. “Anybody would.”

  Zoe sniffed. “That shows all you know! Lord Mannering fancies Aunt Cara and she’s not biddable by any means.”

  Colin glanced at his uncle, seated now in a walnut wing chair. Lady Norwood remained by his side, perhaps because he held her wrist in a grasp that didn’t look especially loverlike. Did Nicky think she might hit him again? These nuances of romantic behavior were too much for Colin to grasp.

  While Zoe and Colin quarreled, the gentlemen followed suit, a disagreement that rapidly accelerated until mention was made of a duel. Fitz roused sufficiently to debate who was going to fight whom, Nicky being up to no such strenuous activities, although he himself would be happy to stand in. Or, alternately, to second someone. Fitz had already demonstrated his prowess with a fireplace poker, which it was a pity Beau had missed.

  Beau rather thought it was a blessing. He stared at the baron’s lilac cravat. “Nice necktie,” he said.

  Fitz preened. “I call it the Point Non Plus. After Anderley there.” Paul glowered. Ianthe thrust the vinaigrette under the baron’s nose. “Stop it, all of you!”

  Patience was not Zoe’s long suit. She eyed the grandfather clock. When the babble of voices failed to abate, she walked over and gave it a great shove. The clock toppled sideways, and hit the floor with a great crash. In the sudden silence, she announced, “I cannot think I would be the right wife for you, Lord Mannering. There, I have cried off.”

  Beau stared from the shattered clock to his wayward daughter. “Great-Uncle Percival brought that clock with him when he fled Austria."

  Zoe plopped her hands on her hips. “If you don’t start paying attention to me, I will break everything in the house! What’s more important, Beau, your own daughter or some silly French spy?”

  Beau wondered if he’d drunk too much of his brandy. Else how had French spies got involved in this mess? “You can’t cry off!”

  “I already have.” Zoe picked up the fireplace poker. “And everyone heard me. Isn’t that right?”

  “Right as a trivet!” Fitz decided it was safe to sit up. Safer than lying down, at any rate, when the spawn of Satan had a fireplace poker in her hand. “We all heard you cry off. Nicky’s betrothal is at an end.”

  Beau glared impotently at his daughter, and then at his sister. “Blast it, Cara! I brought you to town so that Zoe might profit from your good sense!”

  All eyes turned to Cara, who lowered her gaze to the hand that so firmly clasped her wrist. “How selfish of you, Lady Norwood,” scolded Fitz, “to wish a little happiness of your own. Not that you look especially happy at the moment, but Nicky will make it up to you.”

  Cara bit her lip. “Don’t tease her,” said Ianthe. “We all know that the path of True Love is often beset with difficulties.”

  “Briars, brambles and banes!” agreed Fitz.

  “It will only be a nine days’ wonder.” Zoe twirled the fireplace poker on her shoulder as if it were a parasol. “Perhaps I am one of those Loversall females who isn’t meant to marry, like Gwyneth and Ariadne. If you try to force me, Beau, I’ll just run away and wind up in a brothel, or perhaps victim of a white slavery ring.”

  Beau frowned at his daughter. “You aren’t supposed to know about such things.”

  “Well, I do! And I shan’t let you break Aunt Cara’s heart, because although you might not mind if she flings herself off the battlements, Cousin Ianthe and I do! Anyway, Lord Mannering will cry off if I don’t.”

  Fortunately the family battlements had long since passed into other hands. Beau turned his astonished gaze on the marquess. “You wouldn’t.”

  Nick shifted in the chair and winced. He felt as though five hundred devils were sticking then- pitchforks in his back. Cara’s cool hand moved to touch his cheek. He looked up at her. “Oh yes I would.”

  “Lord Mannering prefers Aunt Cara,” explained Zoe. “He told me so himself. As we tried to tell you!”

  So they had, but he hadn’t believed them. “You’re been frolicking with my sister?” said Beau.

  Nick didn’t think that “frolicking” quite described what he’d been doing, but he didn’t quibble. “I have.”

  Cara glanced at her brother. “Contrary to your expectations, Beau, as well as your daughter’s, even people in their declining years can still enjoy amour.”

  Beau disliked the fire in his sister’s eye. There were still things in the room that could be broken. “I never said—”

  “You said I was dull and drab and dreary and I don’t even remember what else.”

  “Dwabble!” interjected the squire. “She bo sush ding.”

  “I’m sure I never meant—”

  “Of course you did,” put in Ianthe. “You always mean what you say. At least in the moment of saying it.”

  Beau raised his hands in defeat. “We’ll just have to hold up our heads and pretend nothing untoward has happened. Ianthe will—"

  “No, Ianthe won’t. I am removing with Cousin Wilhelmina to Brighton.”

  Fitz brightened. “Excellent choice! I was planning on going there myself. Prinny re
quires my advice about some additions to his Pavilion.”

  Ianthe met her cousin’s gaze. “Zoe is your daughter, Beau. Perhaps one of your female friends might have some suggestions as to what you might do with her.”

  Beau had some notions of his own, but unfortunately the dungeons had departed the family along with the battlements. “I don’t think I have any more female friends,” he said.

  Zoe moved to her papa’s side. “No mistresses? Poor Beau! Aunt Cara isn’t the only one who is growing old.”

  Beau might have taken exception with this comment, had he been listening. Instead, he was looking at Ianthe. “You are leaving me.”

  Ianthe smiled, a little wistfully. “It’s time, don’t you think?”

  Beau was uncertain what he thought, save that the notion of Ianthe’s departure was having a strange effect on parts of his person that hadn’t perked up for some time, even during a visit to the Temple of Health in the Adelphi, where he had sat upon a magnetic throne, and taken a crackling electrical bath, and been prescribed a course of treatment that included Nervous AEtherial Balsam and Imperial Pills. And if he had foregone the fifty pounds that would have purchased him a romp in the Celestial Bed, he had still learned some bawdy lyrics, most memorably “he kneaded her dough with his long rolling-pin.”

  Beau was visited, then, by his own epiphany. Perhaps not Zoe’s antics had quenched his ardor, but Ianthe’s reproachful presence in the background of his life. “Yes, my dear, I suppose it is.”

  Zoe didn’t see why anyone should care if Ianthe went to Brighton. “If I contrived to make it look like Lord Mannering had compromised me, he truly compromised Aunt Cara, because I found her hiding in his bed. So you should make him marry her instead.”

  Cara interrupted. “No one is making anyone marry anyone.”

  Beau studied his sister. “Do I want to know why you were in Mannering’s bed?”

  Cara touched Nick’s hand, locked so firmly around her wrist. “No.”

  Zoe played her trump card. “And he wasn’t wearing any clothes.”

  Ianthe arched her eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me he was naked, Cara.”