by Carola Dunn
His lordship offered Teresa his arm. Lady Mary shot her a venomous glance, and even amicable Miss Kaye pouted a little. Teresa began to understand why her cousin was attracted to Muriel Parr, who was already betrothed.
Yet another hopeful debutante sat on the viscount's other side at dinner. He conversed with her politely, but when the courses changed he turned to Teresa with such obvious relief that she nearly laughed aloud.
She had noticed, sitting at the far end of the table, the man her cousins had declined to introduce to her in Hyde Park. "I am surprised to see Lord Carruthers here," she said in a low voice.
"He has entrée everywhere, I fear, for his manners are impeccable—in company--and his family long established. Nothing definite is known to his discredit, save his excessive gambling, and who does not gamble? I hope you will heed my advice though, cousin, and avoid him when possible."
"I do not like his face," said Teresa decisively.
"I daresay he will be at Mama's ball next week."
"Ball! I had thought it was to be a small soirée!"
Cousin Tom grinned, and once again she thought him quite the most handsome man she had ever met. "Her Grace is quite incapable of giving a small soirée," he explained. "Her guest list starts with forty names, and then she keeps adding those to whom she owes an invitation, those who will be bitterly offended not to receive one, those who happen to cross her mind. I can guarantee you a full scale ball, and I doubt there will be fewer than four hundred in attendance."
"I shall never remember all their names!"
"No, but they will remember you, cousin, and not only because the ball is in your honour."
Though aware that he intended a compliment, she said with a laugh, "Yes, for I shall probably commit some dreadful faux pas before half the Ton. I should have preferred a small party for my début."
When the ladies withdrew, the duchess summoned Teresa to be introduced to two or three matrons. All seemed disposed to be amiable, and Teresa pondered again the benefits attached to her relationship with a peer of the highest rank. She could not deny that it was excessively pleasant, yet she thought the situation she had been brought up with more equitable. In Costa Rica a man's worth was judged by what he had managed to create out of raw jungle.
A wave of homesickness swept over her as she glanced, a lost look on her face, around the elegant drawing room with its beautifully dressed, mannered ladies making polite, meaningless conversation.
Miss Kaye trotted up to her. "Teresa... May I call you Teresa? And you must call me Jenny for I vow we are going to be friends... Pray come and meet Daphne Pringle, she is the sweetest creature and quite longs to know you." Chattering away she bore Teresa off willy nilly to join in a discussion of the best place to buy French lace.
Lady Mary Hargreave was not a member of this cozy group. She sat at the pianoforte, idly turning over the music with an uninterested air, picking out a tune here and there. She brightened as soon as the gentlemen arrived. Somehow, without appearing to hurry, she reached Teresa's side before Lord Danville, who came straight towards them. He brought with him a couple of young gentlemen who, he claimed, had begged to be introduced to his cousin.
After a few minutes of general conversation, Lady Mary turned to Teresa. "Will you favour us with a tune upon the pianoforte, Miss Danville?" she enquired.
"You must excuse me, I do not play," Teresa said warily.
"Ah, the harp is your instrument! I will beg Lady Kaye to have the harp brought out. No? Then you sing! I shall be happy to accompany you."
"My voice is nothing out of the ordinary, Lady Mary, and I know only Spanish songs, but if you will support me with an accompaniment upon the guitar, I shall do my poor best."
Lady Mary flushed, but made a quick recover. "The guitar is a peasant instrument," she declared. "I am certain Lady Kaye has no such thing in her house."
"Oh but she does," Jenny broke in with a giggle. "My brother was in Spain with Wellington, Teresa, and he brought back a guitar. He plays it, too. What a pity he is not here tonight."
"Nor is it a peasant instrument," added one of Lord Danville's friends indignantly. "I, too, was in Spain, and the gentlemen serenade their ladies with guitar music. Quite delightful, though it does grow a little tiresome around two in the morning."
"Rolled up, horse, foot and artillery," the other gentleman murmured in Teresa's ear as Lady Mary flounced off. "I'll tell you, Miss Danville, she only wanted to be asked to play herself. Her performance upon the pianoforte is generally judged superior, but I believe you have spared us that tedium for this evening."
"Thank you, Sir Toby," Teresa said laughing, "and thank you, Jenny, Mr Wishart, for coming to my defence. But I hope one of you will ask Lady Mary to play, for I quite long to hear it. I do not know of a single pianoforte in Costa Rica. Indeed, the transportation would be impossible and I daresay the climate would ruin it."
Instead of asking Lady Mary to play, they all besieged her with questions about her native land.
When the party broke up, Teresa realised happily that she had several new friends. In the carriage she asked her aunt whether any of them had been invited to their soirée.
"The Kayes will be coming of course," said her Grace. "As for the others, I cannot possibly remember who is on the list, but I shall show it to you tomorrow and you may add whom you will."
"Thank you, aunt," said Teresa, exchanging a glance of amusement with her cousin.
* * * *
The next morning she rose early to go riding in the park with Lord John. Well aware of his usual habits, she took the precaution of sending a message via Annie and his valet before she dressed. Leaning out of the window to check the air, she felt the nip of frost and put on a pelerine over her habit.
Her cousin stumbled downstairs, rubbing his eyes, a mere five minutes late. "I did remember to send a message to the stables yesterday," he said sheepishly. "Devil of a night, last night, begging your pardon, cousin."
"You can go back to bed when we return," she suggested, smiling. "It is by far too beautiful a day for me to excuse you. It may rain tomorrow."
"The horses are waiting, miss, my lord," announced Boggs. He shook his head in wonder as they went down the front steps. It was years since Lord John had risen at such an hour, except in direct response to a command from his father.
He closed the door and went back to his preparations for the ball, for he knew, as well as did Lord Danville, that her Grace's small soirée was to be the great event of the Little Season. Miss Teresa's arrival was turning the household upside down, he thought indulgently, and he was thoroughly enjoying it.
Teresa and Lord John warmed their horses with a short trot, then galloped wildly along the edge of the Serpentine, sending ducks and swans flapping for the safety of the water.
At last Teresa drew rein, laughing with exhilaration. "It has been too long since I had a good ride," she exclaimed. "And poor Gayo has been cooped up inside as well. Do you think I could safely bring them to the park, if we came early when there is no one about?"
"I cannot see the harm in it." Lord John had taken to visiting the parrot in Teresa's dressing room, bringing him tidbits. "Dashed if I'm getting up early again just to exercise your bird, though."
"Of course not. I shall bring Annie. Oh look, is that not Sir Andrew?"
Her cousin waved and hallooed. "Graylin! Well met. Don't tell me you make a habit of rising at this ungodly hour."
Andrew rode up on a superb chestnut gelding. "Good morning, Miss Danville, Lord John. Yes, I usually ride at this hour."
"There you are then, Teresa. No need to spoil my beauty sleep, Graylin will be delighted to escort you in future. Better bring a groom though."
"You brought no groom?" Andrew looked around with a frown. "John is my cousin," pointed out Teresa, feeling slightly guilty as she recalled that Lord Danville had said she ought to take a groom. "And besides, I have my protectors under my cape." She touched her hip.
"In Hyde Park
! Teresa, if anyone saw them..."
"Your protectors?" interrupted Lord John. "Some fierce jungle creature I have not yet met?"
"My pistols," Teresa explained, laughing. "Just in case we are set upon by footpads."
"Females don't shoot."
"This one does," said Andrew, "and better than most men. However, I beg you will not demonstrate in Hyde Park, Teresa," he added hastily. "It really will not do."
"I'm accounted something of a crack-shot," Lord John announced, a glint in his eye. "We'll have a match some time, cousin." He caught Andrew's minatory glance. "Not in Hyde Park, of course. Somewhere private."
Andrew decided it was time to change the subject. "Do you care to ride with me tomorrow morning, Miss Danville?" he asked.
"Oh yes!" she accepted with a joyful smile. "That will be delightful. And I promise to bring a groom."
On the way home, Teresa remembered that she had intended to take Gayo to the park the next day. She mentioned it to Lord John, and he suggested that instead she should take him to the small garden behind Stafford House. As it was private, he could go at any time of day.
"And it has high walls, so he’s not likely to fly the coop. Deuced if that isn't the place to have our shooting contest too!"
"But not at the same time, John!"
* * * *
Teresa ate a hearty breakfast, then collected Marco from the library and went with him to her uncle's study, where she had arranged to see him at eleven. Sitting behind his huge oak desk, he dismissed his secretary, waved them to seats, and enquired as to how he might help them.
Teresa told him the whole story of the capture of the Snipe and the rescue of the slaves.
"And my sister is a heroine, sir," said Marco when she finished, "whatever the tattlemongers may make of it."
"She is indeed, lad," agreed the duke, "but you are right to fear the rumour mill. Is there any reason why it should become the latest on-dit? Are the—ah, the Parrs likely to spread the tale, or your abigail?"
"Annie will not say a word, uncle, nor, I believe, will the Parrs. The only problem is the trial."
Marco explained what he had read in the newspaper.
"I shall not permit my niece to be called as witness," the duke said, a hint of steel visible beneath his usual affability. "You need have no fear of that. I shall have to consider whether it will be wise to allow your maid to testify, or even Marco. I should prefer to keep the family name out of it altogether."
"But I wish to testify!" cried Marco. "Harrison deserves hanging, or at least transportation. Besides, if he goes free we may be in danger for he made the most dreadful threats."
"Graylin's testimony may well be enough," his Grace reassured him, "and the captain of your ship probably left a deposition when he sailed."
"There's Rowson too," Teresa reminded her brother. "Sir Andrew's servant," she explained to her uncle.
The duke sat back, satisfied. "Very well. I shall consult Graylin and, I believe, the prosecutor, but I doubt it will be necessary for any of my household to appear. I am gratified, my dear, that you came to me with this problem."
"Thank you, uncle, I am very glad we told you." Teresa curtsied, then gave way to impulse and rounded the desk to drop a kiss on his cheek. "Papa always said you were the best of brothers."
Marco bowed, and said hopefully, "If you please, sir, may I at least attend the trial, if I am not to be a witness?"
"Certainly, my boy. Ought to be a part of any gentleman's education. Take your tutor, what's his name? Netherdale, with you."
As soon as the study door closed behind them, Teresa said, "Since you have escaped from Mr Netherdale for the nonce, will you come out with me and Gayo? Cousin John says there is a garden behind the house where he can go free for a while, and I have a couple of hours before I meet Muriel."
Marco agreed with alacrity. A footman showed them the way to the garden, through the ballroom, and they inspected it to make sure it was really suitable. It was surrounded by the house on two sides and a twelve-foot brick wall on the other two. Though Gayo could easily fly out, Teresa thought he was unlikely to go far from her in a strange place.
There was a stone terrace off the ballroom, with steps down to a lawn crossed by brick paths. In the centre grew a spreading chestnut, now losing its golden leaves, with benches about its base. Chrysanthemums and a few late roses bloomed in the flowerbeds round the edge of the lawn.
"Perfect!" said Teresa. "There’s plenty here to keep him interested.” They went to fetch Gayo.
* * * *
Gayo flew from Teresa's arms into the boughs of the tree, then settled down to find out whether there was anything edible within the prickly green covering of the chestnuts.
The parrot flew wildly up and down the garden, shouting "Hello!" at the top of his voice. Then he perched in the tree and attacked one of the prickly fruits. It fell to the ground, splitting open to reveal a glossy horse-chestnut.
Gayo swooped down to investigate further. Marco joined him, interested by the curious nut and wondering whether it was edible.
While they were busy, Teresa buried her nose in a fragrant pink rose. Gayo lost interest in the hard chestnut, flew to the next rosebush, and started methodically shredding a beautiful yellow bloom. “Sea scum!” he cried joyfully.
Teresa and Marco looked round and both grabbed for him, getting in each other’s way. Marco caught a single green tail-feather, and Gayo disappeared into the house through an open window with a mournful "¡Ay de mí!"
"Oh no," groaned Teresa. "I should have made sure all the windows were closed."
"Listen!" said Marco.
Through the window came a series of crashes accompanied by a stream of multi-lingual vituperation.
"Sacré nom d'un chien!"
"¡Hijo de puta!"
"Canaille! Cochon!"
"Slimy son of a sea snake!"
"I catch, I cook cet oiseau du diable!"
"I think Gayo found the kitchens," said Marco.
Chapter 13
Jacques was packing to return to France, where good cooks were properly appreciated. Her Grace the Duchess of Stafford was laid down upon a sofa, calling for sal volatile and burnt feathers, while Amelia Carter fluttered about her helplessly. Gayo was back on his perch in the dressing room, scolding himself in a sad, soft voice.
Marco went up to the cook's chamber in the attic. He humbly apologised, blaming the whole fracas on himself. He should not have snatched at the parrot, frightening it.
Better a whole gardenful of roses be destroyed for what was a mere gardener's anger compared to the righteous wrath of a French chef? Such an insult must never happen again. It was difficult adjusting oneself to the customs of a foreign land, did not Jacques agree? Everything was so different. The parrot was homesick, he, Marco, was homesick, was it possible that Jacques was also homesick? One heard that France was a beautiful country.
Jacques broke down and wept. Of course he was homesick, all exiles must be homesick. Le pauvre petit perroquet, in a cold country far from his jungle, must also be homesick. Did Monsieur Marco suppose the unhappy bird would enjoy an apricot tart?
Monsieur Marco did, and went off congratulating himself heartily on having listened to Andrew's discourses on diplomacy.
He found Teresa on her knees in the drawing room. She was bathing her aunt's temples with one of her herbal concoctions, and swearing that tonight's guests would be served a good dinner if she had to cook it herself. Miss Carter clucked with dismay, scandalised at the idea of the duchess's niece in the kitchen.
"No need," said Marco. "Jacques is on his way back to the scene of the crime. I am very sorry, ma'am, it was all my fault. I was supposed to be watching Gayo."
"So was I. I ought to have known it was not safe to let him fly free," Teresa said.
"If we are all beating our breasts," said Lord John, coming in with an ill-concealed grin on his face, "I am to blame for suggesting the garden in the first place."
"Bu
rnt feathers," murmured his mother weakly, unwilling to give up her vapours.
Lord John's grin broadened. "No, no, Mama, you cannot expect to make a burned sacrifice of the poor parrot. Doing it much too brown!" Overcome with helpless laughter at this double pun, he sank into a chair.
"Perhaps this will be sufficient?" enquired Marco with mock anxiety, drawing a single green tail-feather from his pocket before he too collapsed.
"Oh do go away both of you and leave my aunt in peace!" said Teresa, shooing them out, careful to keep her back to the duchess until she had mastered her own mirth.
"I only hope this has not given John ideas," sighed her Grace. "He was always a mischievous little boy and I do not for a moment believe he has grown out of it. Perhaps the conservatory next time, my dear, with all the doors and windows shut?"
Teresa hugged her. "You and my uncle could not be kinder if you were my own parents," she said with a catch in her voice. "Now if you are feeling more the thing, I must go and change. I am going walking with Muriel Parr at two."
The duchess sat up and straightened her cap. "Thomas asked me to add Miss Parr to my guest list. I should be sorry to think he had conceived a tendre for such an unsuitable female. He is, after all, heir to a dukedom."
"Muriel is betrothed already, aunt. I am sure Cousin Tom was only being kind to me by inviting my friend."
This reassurance must have borne less weight had the duchess known that, not twenty minutes later, her eldest son was offering to escort the two young ladies on their walk. Teresa had hoped to talk to Muriel privately about Andrew's China mission, but in the face of her friend's obvious pleasure she had not the heart to fob him off. Trailed by Annie and Kinsey, they crossed the road and entered the park.
Though Lord Danville took pains to include her, Teresa was soon unutterably bored. Her companions covered every topic of conversation approved by Lady Parr, from the weather to the preferred shade of upholstery for his lordship's new curricle. She was relieved when he asked anxiously whether Miss Parr was not growing tired, and turned their steps homeward.
