Ginnie Come Lately

by Carola Dunn

  At that moment, Ginnie would not have protested had he strung her brothers up from the nearest tree. Her face burning with humiliation, she picked up her skirts and ran.

  By the time she reached the house, slipped in by a side door, and scurried breathlessly up to her room, she was having second thoughts. The twins had saved her from ruin. Another moment of Justin’s passionate embrace, and he could have had his way with her with nary a protest from her lips. Possibly he had been sufficiently in command of himself to stop before it was too late—but she didn’t think so.

  “Temptress,” he had started to call her. Did he blame her for their mutual lapse from propriety? Once, his opinion had had little power to hurt her. Now tears pricked her eyelids at the thought that he might consider her a trollop. She wanted his respect and friendship more than anything else in the world.

  More than anything else except his love.

  But the words he had murmured were of temptation, not love. He desired her body, not her heart. Was his heart not his own to give? Had Lady Amabel already taken possession?

  Racked by jealousy, Ginnie sat on the edge of her bed and buried her face in her hands.

  * * * *

  Justin glowered down at the two dirty, scared, freckled faces. “Don’t you dare to breathe a word of this to a soul,” he said between clenched teeth, “or you will regret it for the rest of your short lives.”

  One of the brats shook his head; the other nodded, wide-eyed. Letting go of their collars, Justin stooped to retrieve the popgun. He recognized it. They must have found it in a toy chest in the nurseries.

  When he straightened, they had already vanished among the trees. He could only hope he had put the fear of death into them.

  What a devil of a coil! He dared not punish Jack and Jimmy beyond the confiscation of their toy gun. If they felt they had nothing more to lose, they might talk, not understanding that he would suffer less than their sister from the resulting scandal.

  She was irresistible, he thought, as, with unsteady hands, he tied a rough knot in his neckcloth and donned his coat. She set his blood on fire, tempting him beyond bearing. Yet this time he had no inclination to blame her for enticing him into that inexcusable and unforgettable embrace. The fault was all his. He wanted her. If only he were free... but he was as good as promised to Amabel.

  He must marry Amabel as soon as possible. Once he had a legitimate outlet for his baser urges, he’d cease to feel this aching desire for Ginnie. He’d be able to enjoy her friendship, to admire her many excellent qualities without reservation.

  Fishing had lost its allure. He needed some more active pastime to distract him. He picked up his rod and was turning to leave when he saw Ginnie’s new parasol lying abandoned on the ground.

  With a tender smile he was unaware of, he stooped to retrieve it. She deserved to be indulged with every frippery her heart might desire. She had praised her sister for uncomplaining patience, but it was her own active refusal to accept a life of hardship for her family that had raised them from indigence.

  Brushing the leaf-mould from her parasol, he vowed that henceforth her life should be as easy as he could make it.

  * * * *

  Every time Ginnie was sure her list was complete, she or Mrs. Peaskot thought of something else that needed doing before the guests arrived. She was glad to be busy. She simply had no time to go into a decline from unrequited love.

  The weather continued fine and Justin was out a good deal, riding with Colin and Mr. Mills or consulting local landowners about his estate duties. Though he had curtailed his early morning rides in favour of joining her and Gilbert, Colin, and Lydia for breakfast, she saw little of him. They were scrupulously polite to each other.

  For a couple of days, Ginnie managed to avoid the twins altogether. She knew she ought to reprimand them for shooting Justin with the popgun, but she quailed at the prospect. It would be better for everyone concerned if that particular incident were quietly forgotten.

  Then three days before the house party, quite by chance, she caught them sneaking along the passage towards Justin’s bedchamber.

  Jimmy had a bulging, squirming, squeaking sack over his shoulder. Jack was playing lookout, but his brother’s agitated burden drew his attention for a moment. He jumped a mile when Ginnie crept up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “What... ? Oh, it’s just you, Ginnie. You startled me,” he said reproachfully.

  “I meant to. What on earth do you two think you are doing?”

  “It’s the stable cat.” Jimmy returned to join them.

  “Miaaaow,” wailed the sack, confirming his words.

  “It’s going to have kittens.”

  “Any minute.”

  “The stables are dirty.”

  “And draughty.”

  “And the horses might step on them.”

  “Or the grooms.”

  “We reckoned they’d be more comf’table in Jus-tin’s bed.”

  Eyes sparkling, they appeared to expect plaudits for their charitable concern for the cat’s welfare.

  “Miiaaaow!” came the muffled, desolate cry again.

  “If she or the kittens have come to any harm, Judith will dip you in boiling oil. Take her back to the stables at once! And then I want a word with you in my chamber.”

  Abashed—but not very—they departed.

  Ginnie continued to her bedchamber, where a superb gown awaited her. It had been created especially for the Masons’ summer ball, to which both family and guests at Wooburn Court were invited. She spared it a perfunctory glance and then began to pace, wondering how she might persuade the twins to abandon the feud with Justin.

  If only she knew whether they considered themselves to have rescued her from his unwanted attentions. She suspected that her presence had been incidental, that he had been their target long before she came on the scene. Impossible to ask, impossible even to mention that occasion!

  They arrived. With expressions of saintly innocence they stood before her, hands behind their backs.

  “It’s all right.”

  “Judith put it in a basket.”

  “With an old blanket.”

  “It’s already started having kittens.”

  “But they would have been very comf’table in Justin’s bed.”

  “He would not, however!” she exclaimed. “You really must stop harassing him.”

  “Just because all the rest of you have given in,” said Jimmy scornfully.

  “It’s like the fable.”

  “The lion and the oxen.”

  “From Aesop. United we stand,” Jack proclaimed.

  “Divided we fall.”

  “Just because he’s started giving you things.”

  “You’ve forgotten what a villain he is. He called you dreadful names.”

  “And he made Mama cry.”

  “But, boys, he has seen the error of his ways. He knows be was mistaken in believing us to be wicked. He is doing his best to make up.”

  “He’s humbugged you.”

  “He can’t bamboozle us. He hired Tully just to bother us.”

  “And then he made us have fancy clothes we can’t have any fun in.”

  “We’ll show him.”

  “We’re not so easily gulled.”

  Ginnie utterly failed to convince them that Justin’s intentions were now of the best. If only Duffy were not having such trouble finding suitable ponies! In the end she resorted to forbidding them to play tricks on Justin. “Promise,” she insisted.

  “We promise.”

  “We won’t play tricks on him.”

  They exchanged a glance of complicity. What were they up to now?

  “And if you spoil his house party, Mama and I shall be held more to blame than he will.’’

  “He invited them.”

  “Tully says we have to stay out of their way,” said Jack resentfully. “They won’t want children running around.”

  Before Ginnie could extract a
nother promise, Lydia came in to see her gown, and Jack and Jimmy escaped.

  The glory of lilac crape over white satin with a vandyke bodice had Lydia in raptures but failed to relieve Ginnie’s anxiety. Even if she made the twins swear to behave, she was afraid they would invent some ingenious justification—such as the comfort of a pregnant cat—for doing precisely as they chose.

  Justin might have some ideas as to how to thwart them. At least she owed it to him to warn him that she feared her brothers still intended mischief.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  As the date of the house party approached, Justin found himself in a state of unaccustomed trepidation. Having chosen his guests deliberately to discomfit the Websters, he faced with misgivings the possibility that they might actually do so.

  At last the Websters were all dressed as befitted their new station in life, and they had naturally good manners that raised not an eyebrow amongst their country neighbours. By the finicky standards of the Beau Monde they might at worst be judged provincial. Only the most captious of critics could find faults worthy of comment, but Justin had to admit he had invited several people who took pride in seeking out the most insignificant of faults and gossiping about them. They were quite capable of holding his stepfamily up to ridicule.

  On the other hand, he thought as he changed for dinner that evening, he had learned that the Websters were not easily cowed. They had collectively snapped their fingers at his condemnation. The high-nosed contempt of a party of strangers was unlikely to overset them.

  The trouble was that Lady Amabel was destined not to remain a stranger.

  That thought so disturbed him that he realized he had reached the true source of his uneasiness. He was in a quake at the prospect of proposing to Amabel.

  And that was ridiculous. In London, not six weeks since, he had viewed the task with equanimity, as the necessary prelude to the acquisition of a suitable wife. He knew himself acceptable to her father in birth and fortune, to herself in character and person. The only possible reason for her refusal might be his sudden acquisition of nine younger siblings. At the very least, they were an added responsibility she would have every excuse not to relish. Was that the source of his anxiety?

  Whether or not that was the whole truth, after leading Amabel and her parents to expect a proposal, he had no choice but to offer for her hand. Yet, should she reject him, the humiliation would be devastating, an irreparable blow to his pride.

  Torn by conflicting emotions, Justin went down to the drawing room. As he entered, he had a sudden sense of history repeating itself. No one was there yet but Ginnie. At the open French windows, she stood gazing across the terrace at the twilit gardens. The last rays of the setting sun gilded her ringlets. Hearing his arrival, she turned.

  “I’m glad you have come down early, Justin.” She stepped towards him. “I must speak to you.”

  Remembering, he moved to place a chair between them, leaning with folded arms on its high back. She was an enchanting sight in a new gown of leaf green sarcenet, flounced and frilled in the latest mode, yet no more delectable than she had been that first day. From the very beginning she had unsettled him, destroyed his vaunted composure, wrecked his peace of mind.

  “What can I do for you?’’ he asked coolly.

  “I don’t know. I simply don’t know what to do. I don’t even know if I am making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  Now that she was closer, he saw that she was worried. “Tell me,” he said more gently. “Perhaps I can relieve your apprehensions, and if not, I shall give you any help I can. Is it something to do with my guests?”

  “Yes, in a way. It’s Jimmy and Jack. I have a lowering feeling that they are plotting to disrupt the house party.”

  “They are your brother’s and your responsibility,” he snapped. Nothing would more surely shame him before Amabel and the others than the sort of tricks the twins conceived. He could not expect a gently bred, fastidious female to overlook their antics. “If they dare to cause trouble, if they dare distress Lady Amabel, I shall take a strap to them,” he vowed.

  “No! You shall not!” Despite her own exasperation with the twins, her fear of their disgracing the family, Ginnie flared up in their defence. “They are only mischievous little boys. They don’t mean any real harm.”

  “They must learn that their mischief will not be tolerated.”

  “I will not let you touch them.”

  They glared at each other in impotent fury as a footman came in to light the candles. He was followed by the earl and countess, before whom it was equally unthinkable to quarrel. Then Gilbert and Lydia joined them.

  “What’s the matter?” Gilbert hissed in Ginnie’s ear. “I swear you look like the Chimera, with smoke and sparks issuing from your nostrils.”

  “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered back.

  Brooding over her dinner, she concluded that while she would never let Jack and Jimmy be beaten, a warning of the likelihood of such a fate might do them good. She might not even have protested Justin’s threat had he not mentioned Lady Amabel in the same breath.

  Lady Amabel was his only concern, it seemed. The possible distress of his other guests did not appear to vex him in the least. He must be desperately enamoured of her.

  Ginnie seethed with jealousy. Lady Amabel was the daughter of an earl, doubtless beautiful, demure, well dowered, and a pattern-card of propriety. In no way could the daughter of an impoverished country gentleman compete. True, Ginnie had won Justin’s passionate embrace, but that merely demonstrated his lack of respect for her. He’d never so insult Lady Amabel—before marriage.

  He must dread that the twins’ misbehaviour would give Lady Amabel a disgust of his family and induce her to reject his suit. Ginnie decided she would be positively grateful if her brothers’ capers prevented a betrothal, even if their want of conduct put her to the blush.

  On the other hand, if Justin truly loved Lady Amabel, he’d be unhappy without her. Ginnie did not want to see him unhappy. His unhappiness might be even more unbearable than his marriage to Lady Amabel, or, indeed, to anyone other than herself.

  Ready to martyr herself for his sake, Ginnie resolved to keep a close eye on the twins and to ask Gilbert, Lydia, and Colin to do likewise.

  After dinner she had no opportunity for a private word with Gilbert and Lydia, as the vicar, Mrs. Desborough, and their flatteringly attentive son came to take tea. If only Mark Desborough stirred her pulses as Justin did!

  At last they left. She and Lydia retired to her chamber, where Gilbert soon joined them.

  “You’ve come to cuffs with Justin again, haven’t you?” he accused her. “What crime has he committed now?”

  Lydia protested. “I am sure Justin cannot have done anything very dreadful.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” Ginnie conceded reluctantly. She could not explain her pique without telling them about Lady Amabel, which would mean revealing that she loved Justin. “He was thrown into high fidgets because I warned him that Jimmy and Jack are ripe for mischief and may embroil his guests.”

  “I should rather think he might be!” Gilbert exclaimed. “Only conceive how mortifying for all of us! But it would be worst for you, Ginnie, because you and Mama would be blamed, and Mama is unlikely to notice anything amiss. How frightful to be held up to ridicule by Justin’s grand friends!”

  “Positively horrid,” Lydia agreed, shaken.

  And how utterly unendurable to be held up to ridicule by Lady Amabel, Ginnie thought, aghast. “You must help me watch the twins every waking moment,” she begged.

  For the next three days she scurried around more busily than ever, and nearly drove the servants to Bedlam with her demands. Everything must be quite perfect for Lord Amis’s friends. Lady Amabel should find no excuse to despise her housekeeping, at least.

  Justin’s aunt arrived the day before the other guests. A small, wiry woman, Lady Matilda Hardwick had an imposing manner despite her lack of inches. Sh
e arrived in midafternoon, and having quickly summed up the situation to her own satisfaction, sent for Ginnie to come to her dressing room before dinner.

  Ginnie attended her with her head held high, ready to defend herself and her family. If she chose, Lady Matilda could undoubtedly make their lives difficult.

  “My dear,” she said at once, instantly reassuring Ginnie, “I can see that my poor brother has acquired an admirable family. I congratulate you.”

  “M-me, my lady?” Ginnie stammered.

  “You, and none other. Your mama is a pretty widgeon,” she said forthrightly, “a good-natured widgeon, and she suits Egbert surprisingly well, but she has not an ounce of spirit. In fact, she is not at all up to snuff. Hardwick and I shall be back in England by the spring and I’ve a mind to do the Season. If you wish, I shall sponsor you and your sister.”

  With more immediate problems weighing on her, Ginnie had scarcely spared a thought for her sister’s come-out, but she was properly grateful. Though her fervent thanks owed more to her relief at Lady Matilda’s approval than to the offer, her ladyship was pleased.

  “I have not been blessed with children,” she said, “and being always surrounded by young officers, I have not felt the lack of sons. Yet I always thought I should have liked to have daughters. You may call me Aunt.”

  Buoyed by Aunt Matilda’s favour, Ginnie looked forward to the house party with considerably diminished anxiety.

  The following day, the first to arrive were George Medford and his sister. The Marquis of Medford, far from proving a formidable figure, was a slight, unassuming young man with a charming smile. From the moment he entered the drawing room, his gaze was fixed on Lydia.

  Used to evoking such behaviour in susceptible gentlemen, Lydia paid him no more attention than that required by courtesy. She was occupied in trying to set his sister at ease. Lady Elizabeth, a pretty girl with brown hair and brown, doe-like eyes, was desperately shy. Lydia, though her disposition was far from lively, had never suffered from shyness. Taking Lady Elizabeth under her wing, she offered to show her to her chamber, and they went off together.

  Justin promptly bore off Lord Medford, promising to return when the next guests arrived.