by The Spy
He put one hand on Phillip’s shoulder in a comradely fashion. Phillip tensed under his touch. Ah, yes. He’d forgotten about that prickly young pride.
“Shall we get on then? We’re to pick up the young ladies shortly. Not that they’ll be ready, of course. I foresee at least three quarters of an hour spent in the front parlor, sharing an uncomfortable settee and conversation with Mr. Trapp.”
Phillip blinked at that but said nothing. Funny, he hadn’t said much of anything since the two of them had completed the primer. Had he frightened the younger man? The more he thought about it, the more sure he became.
In the carriage, he decided to reassure Phillip. “See here, Flip . . . I hope you’ll tell me if you need anything, anything at all. I don’t want you to think I’ll be angry with you.”
Phillip tugged nervously at his cuffs. “No. I don’t need anything.”
“Hmm. Listen, Phillip . . . do you trust me?”
Phillip turned. James could just see a gleam of green in the dim light. “I suppose so. Why?”
“Because I want you to do something for me.”
“Yes?”
“I want you to try very hard to . . . well . . . how shall I put this? Be more . . . masculine.”
There was a short silence. “You don’t think I’m masculine?”
Phillip sounded absolutely appalled. James grimaced. “I’m not saying this well. What I mean is, if you were to want to be more so, I could help you. Teach you some things, you see.”
There was a low gurgle from the other side of the carriage. Damn, he’d offended the fellow. “I know it isn’t your fault, Flip.”
“No, I should say it isn’t.”
“I mean, you might not have had a manly example to follow.”
There was a pause. James waited it out, knowing he was treading on delicate ground.
“True. I can honestly say I have never followed a manly example.”
James smiled in relief. “Well, then. We can start tomorrow.”
Another pause. “Start what?”
“Why, to toughen you up a bit, that’s what. I’ll make a real man out of you, wait and see.”
“Oh. That’s very . . . kind of you.” Phillip’s voice sounded oddly muffled.
“If you like, we can start tonight. Take this ball, for instance. There’s likely to be a smoking room of some sort, and a gaming room, and real drinks, not just tepid lemonade.”
“That sounds entertaining, I suppose. Masculine.”
“Precisely. You need to spend more time surrounded by grown men, Flip. And I’m here to make sure you do.”
“How can I ever thank you?”
“Don’t fret,” James said expansively. “I’m happy to help.”
Chapter Twelve
In the darkness of the other side of the carriage, Phillipa sat frozen in a state of sheer horror. He was going to make a man out of her? How? Would there be excessive amounts of perspiration involved?
Would she be expected to make unseemly noises and perhaps—God forbid—spit?
Oh, this was dreadful indeed.
The infinite and horrible possibilities continued to run through her mind until the carriage pulled up before a lovely house on an expensive square. Glad to think of something, anything, else, Phillipa was about to comment upon the attractive garden in the center of the square when she realized that she was only likely to inspire Mr. Cunnington to further efforts of manly transformation.
Right, then. No floral conversation. What did men speak of? Politics? She knew little of the war effort, despite her personal involvement.
She didn’t think her view of the lamentable housekeeping habits of French soldiers would be of much interest, nor did she wish to invite curiosity into her past.
She considered the matter as they entered the house.
The Trapps’ front parlor was quite comfortable, and a good thing too. Just as James had predicted, it was nearly a full hour before the Misses Trapp descended to greet their escorts.
Bitty and Kitty seemed very nice girls, if a bit young. With a start, Phillipa realized that she was scarcely two years older than the twins. When had she become so seasoned?
In that tiny cell off the fireplace, she decided. In those hours she crouched in the silence, waiting for rescue that never came.
“You seem quite lost in thought, Mr. Walters. Are you such a serious-minded fellow, then?” one of the twins asked.
Phillipa reminded herself to bow. “I do apologize, Miss Trapp.” The girl had been introduced as Miss Trapp, so she must be the eldest by a very short while. The other girl, Miss Kitty Trapp, looked sharply at Phillipa.
“Pray, how did you know you spoke to Bitty?”
James looked back and forth between the twins. “That’s true. How did you know? I can tell the difference, but I’ve known them for some time. Still, I admit they do confound me occasionally.”
Phillipa blinked. “Why, they look very little alike to me.”
Miss Kitty Trapp slapped her on the arm with her fan teasingly. “Nothing like? Go on, admit it. ’Twas naught but a lucky guess, wasn’t it?”
Phillipa wondered if she’d done something wrong. Should she pretend confusion? Whyever for? “Of course I see a resemblance, but there are many differences between you. Miss Kitty Trapp is slightly taller than Miss Trapp. Miss Trapp’s hair is a shade lighter, while Miss Kitty Trapp’s eyes are a deeper shade of blue.”
Mr. Cunnington stared at her for a long moment while the girls complimented Phillipa effusively on her observational skills. Apparently they were quite taken with the idea of differing appearances. Why then did they wear identical dresses and hairstyles?
“You’ve won our true affection, Mr. Walters,” gushed Bitty, as she insisted that Phillipa call her—when her mama was not present, of course—and wound her arm through Phillipa’s in a familiar way.
Kitty wound her arm through Phillipa’s other arm, apparently in the spirit of sisterly competition. “We’ll not part with you for anything,” said Kitty. “It is a rare fellow who can tell us apart even after great acquaintance.”
“Indeed, Phillip,” James added, “your powers of observation are quite impressive. How gratifying it is to see you fulfill my faith in you. Pray, continue to reveal other such skills for my edification.”
Warmth went through Phillip at such praise, although she wasn’t sure what James meant by that. Why was he looking at her so speculatively? She did not have time to ponder the matter long, for the girls virtually dragged her to the carriage, vying for her attention all the while.
It seemed she was courting now.
The ball was like any other ball, but for the urgency and frustration that kept James on edge. He’d buttonholed every influential gentleman in the room to try to win their support, but it had gained him little. Liverpool was right. No one wanted to charge Lady Winchell in this case.
James wasn’t surprised to see Collis Tremayne wander into the ball a few hours into the evening. Collis protested wildly against social engagements on principle, but James suspected that Collis eventually needed distraction from his own thoughts. With his left arm nearly useless after his term as a soldier in His Majesty’s service, the heir to the Etheridge title felt quite useless on the whole. His uncle had recruited him into training with the Liar’s Club recently, but James knew that Collis still wasn’t entirely sure about the prospect. How could a one-armed man serve the Crown effectively?
James rubbed his own healing shoulder in sympathy. What would have happened to him if he’d been as permanently disabled as Collis had?
Perish the thought. His gunshot wound was healing at last and he’d completely recovered from his experience with starvation. He would be back on full duty very soon.
Collis approached James after a few minutes of meeting and greeting and took up his post on the other side of James holding up the wall.
“Ho there, Cunnington.”
James nodded amiably. “Tremayne.”
&
nbsp; Collis looked around the ballroom. ‘Where’s Phillip? Did he weasel out and leave you with the Trapp-me-now twins?”
James took a long swallow of bland lemonade. “No. He’s here.”
Collis grinned. “Hiding out, is he? Can’t say as I blame him. Have you ever seen such a crop of avid young ladies? I believe we’re going to have to import blokes from America to take up the marital slack.”
James grinned slowly. “I don’t think we’ll be pestered much tonight.”
Collis raised a brow. “Why not?”
James jerked his head toward a multicolored knot of silk and lace gowns on the far side of the ballroom. “They’re all over there.”
Collis studied the group. A line developed between his brows. “What’s all that about? There must be twenty girls in that crowd. What are they up to?”
James grimaced. “What they are up to is . . . Phillip.”
Collis exhaled a skeptical laugh. “Your skinny little tutor, the beau of the ball? I don’t believe a word of it.”
James shrugged. “Come along then. I’ll prove it to you. He’s probably due for rescue by now, anyway.”
The two approached the circle of fawning women. It wasn’t easy to spot Phillip until they were quite close, for the fellow was little taller than his admiring throng.
As Collis and James drew near, they heard Phillip speaking quite calmly, without any apparent need for rescue.
“Yes, Miss Tate, I quite agree. The high waist is doomed to fall soon. An economical young lady might think to have a bit of extra fabric left at the waist when she orders her gowns, as to let it down when fashion dictates.”
This suggestion was met with many admiring murmurs of agreement, which then hushed immediately as Phillip opened his mouth once more. “But I think you can calmly put your faith into the purchase of a few good bonnets. One can always change the trim, can one not?”
Kitty Trapp pressed forward from the group to tuck her arm boldly through Phillip’s. Bitty immediately followed suit.
Collis leaned to mutter in James’s ear. “Looks like they’re staking territory. Twins, for pity’s sake. It’s a shame there isn’t more of the fellow to go around.”
James nodded. “I’m taking him everywhere. I’ve never been so free of pursuit.” All the better to wage pursuits of his own.
Collis elbowed him. “Wait a moment there! This was my idea! I should get a chance to take him along to my social engagements as well.”
James pursed his lips. “True. You may have him on Tuesdays. I rarely go out on Tuesdays.”
“Excellent.” Then Collis caught on. “Just a moment! No one goes out on Tuesdays!”
James grinned and patted Collis on the shoulder. “Quite right. Good of you not to insist. Phillip should spend time with Robbie on Tuesdays.”
“Blast,” muttered Collis cheerfully. “Ah, well, I’ll simply tag along with the two of you from now on.”
James shrugged. “Fine with me.” He pondered the crowd for a moment. Was there any point in remaining in the ballroom?
“Come along, Col. Let’s see if there’s anyone I need to speak to in the gaming room.”
Collis nodded. “What about him?” He cocked his head toward Phillip.
James shrugged. “I’ll take him into the gaming room another time. Tonight I’m too busy enjoying the respite from the predatory lassies of London.”
Collis grinned. “I’m with you.”
Phillipa happened to look up just in time to see James’s back disappearing into the crowd. Had he been looking for her? She hoped he wasn’t impatient with her. The Trapp sisters hadn’t let her loose for a moment.
However, she could not deny she was having a certain amount of fun. It seemed that when a man uttered a proclamation about fashion, his views were taken much more seriously than another woman’s. She alone had single-handedly banished puce from the wardrobe of no less than twenty girls tonight.
She wished she could declare “figure improvers” dead as well, but she didn’t think a gentleman would expound on the new fad in underthings in the company of young ladies. Pity that, for she had seen more than one girl have a dizzy spell from a tight corset tonight. The things were a menace—unhealthy and ridiculous.
Therefore most likely invented by a man.
Still, enough was enough. She was being torn in two like a wishbone by the competitive maneuverings of the Trapp twins and the ballroom was becoming uncomfortably stuffy.
It took several moments of apologies and reassurances before the girls let her go. Phillipa looked about her, but could see no sign of James and Collis. In fact, there were very few gentlemen in evidence at all. How odd. She was sure there had been more about earlier. Had there been some sort of masculine secret signal to desert the ballroom?
Still, all the better. The more time before her first “Ways and Means of Manliness” lesson, the better. For now, she would have a lemonade and hide behind a potted palm until she caught her breath.
Quite comfortable in her hiding place, she dawdled there. Finally unobserved, she was able to gaze wistfully at the confections of lace and organza worn by the other girls. She’d never owned anything so pretty. Not that Papa had deprived her, of course. There had simply never been a need for her to own such a gown.
Anyway, wouldn’t she look a fright with her hair mangled as it was? She was still as thin as a stick as well, although she was feeling much better after four days of good meals. Sighing to herself, she indulged in one more moment of cheerful envy before she tired of herself.
The evening was growing late. She had a view of the ballroom, but there was still no sign of James. What should she do?
It occurred to her that he might have left her. After all, she wasn’t his escort. Men likely left each other to their own devices all the time. As a man, she herself could leave anytime she desired.
What a charming thought. Simply make her regrets and leave, with no escort, no footmen, no chaperone. She sighed in wonder. How free men were!
She had just about decided to make her own escape when her hiding place was invaded by two young men who looked over their shoulders as they ducked under the palm. Phillipa stepped about the other side of the giant pot before she could be spotted. No more men tonight, thank you.
She tugged her waistcoat straight and was about to make her way to take leave of her host when she heard a fragment of whispered conversation.
“—once I get her onto the balcony, count to fifty, then fetch Mrs. Wint.”
“Why that old windbag? She’d gossip the ear off an elephant!”
“Precisely my goal. It cannot be anyone who could be trusted to keep quiet out of kindness to the girl’s family. I need to be interrupted by someone who will ruin her if she does not wed me posthaste.”
“I don’t know about this, Tuttle. Are you sure you want to marry her? What if she ends up looking just like her mother?”
“What do I care what she looks like? Her inheritance will get the creditors off my back for a long while, and her papa will always be good for a hit as well.” There came a low snicker. “Everything I always wanted in a woman.”
“But Tuttle, don’t they have highly placed friends?”
“All the more reason they’ll want a quick and quiet marriage, then. Just do as you’re told, Merrick, and stop trying to think. You’ve no talent for it.”
The young men ducked from beneath the fronds to make their way across the ballroom and were immediately lost in the crush.
Hot red rage filled Phillipa as she realized what the two were planning. A very public compromising to force some young woman to wed out of shame and to hand her inheritance over to that indebted snake! Phillipa wished she could thrash the fellows herself, but she must remember that she was not a man after all. She could only try to stop them. But how?
Phillipa rounded the giant pot to dart across the ballroom without a care for her own unseemly haste.
Bloody hell. Where was James? This fellow Tuttle was
a bruiser. Phillipa could not stop him on her own.
A glint of blond hair caught Phillipa’s eye across the ballroom. Kitty.
Phillipa sidestepped dancers until she reached Kitty’s side. “Kitty! Do you know a fellow by the name of Tuttle?”
“Do you mean John Tuttle? If you’re looking for John, all you need to do is look for Bitty. They just went for a turn around the floor.” Kitty waved vaguely to her right.
Oh, no. Not Bitty.
Phillipa grabbed Kitty’s hand and towed the surprised girl along as she ran after Tuttle and Bitty. There was no sign of the couple in the ballroom. Abruptly, Phillipa changed direction.
The balcony.
Chapter Thirteen
Phillipa towed Kitty down the short hall to the sitting room. She’d been given a tour of the balcony and its adjoining rooms by the giggling daughter of the house earlier. The small room was dark.
Kitty cleared her throat. “Phillip? My sister isn’t—”
Phillipa kept her grip on Kitty and led her to the balcony doors. She opened the door to see Bitty struggling in the arms of a large young man. Fabric tore harshly.
“John, please! You are hurting me! Please, stop!” There was real fear in Bitty’s voice.
Phillipa heard the latch rattle on the other door. Oh, no! It was Merrick with his witness!
“It is a rare fellow who can tell us apart even after great acquaintance.” Instantly, Phillipa threw wide her own door, flung Kitty out to stumble across the stone balcony, then snatched Bitty from the arms of the astonished John and pushed her back into the darkened sitting room. “Shh!” she urged the sobbing girl, then shut the door on her.
She turned back to observe a very interesting tableau. John stood in the rectangle of golden light coming from the ballroom, staring openmouthed at a composed and perfectly groomed version of the girl he had been ravaging a moment before. In the open doorway stood the gullible Merrick, along with a stout and disapproving dowager.
The woman sniffed. “John Tuttle, what are you doing out here alone with that girl?”
