The four young people set off after her.
Chapter Fifteen
Lieutenant-General Sir Arthur Wellesley was lately and briefly returned from Portugal. Their Lordships in London had desired him to report most urgently on precisely what had been agreed in the Convention of Cintra. They wished to know why the British had so courteously helped the defeated French evacuate all their troops and weapons. Their Lordship’s reaction was markedly different to that for Sir Arthur’s despatches on the preceding triumph in the Battle of Vimeiro. That victory had caused bells to be rung, cannon to be fired and The Morning Post to announce on the second of September, “Most Glorious News from Portugal, Complete Defeat of General Junot and Proposals for the Surrender of His Army.” But by then Their Lordships had received General Dalrymple’s report. It left little doubt that Sir Arthur was, falsely, the main promulgator of the Cintra disaster.
What Their Lordships desired, Their Lordships inevitably received. His report completed and successfully received, Sir Arthur had decided to permit himself a few hours respite from the iniquities of army politics. Spending it in the pleasant and entertaining female company he had enjoyed before would sooth the injustice he had felt but had now corrected. He reclined at his ease on a spindly chair in the shade, one hand resting on an equally spindly table. His fingers trailed up and down the shapely stem of a wineglass. He sported no scarlet uniform today, simply a drab coat and a shining white stock. No trace of the burden of command showed on his face with its famous hook nose. His brow was smooth, his blue eyes clear of concern. Those eyes swam round to his hostess and the new batch of guests.
‘Dear Sir Arthur, pray allow me to make you known to Miss Wilhelmina Orksville.’ Mary Berry indicated Wilhelmina with a graceful hand.
Sir Arthur rose. He executed a small bow. Wilhelmina bent her knees slightly into a curtsey.
‘Good day, Sir Arthur,’ Wilhelmina said. ‘May I present Miss Neave? Perhaps you might recall the services of her father Mr Archibald Neave during the Indian campaign.’
A pair of eyes examined Araminta. ‘Neave? Neave? Ah, yes, of course. Stoutest fellow. Utterly reliable.’ He bowed. ‘Delighted, Miss Neave. Delighted.’ The eyes smiled. ‘Neave never let slip he had such a treasure at home.’
Araminta blushed to the roots of her hair. She produced her prettiest curtsey. ‘How do you do, Sir Arthur? Papa will be honoured by your praise.’
A distinct cough emanated from the rear of the group. Miss Mary Berry suppressed a smile. ‘Sir Arthur, you will be acquainted with the Marquess of Levington, his brother Lord Frederick and Mr Blythburgh.
George did not actually shoulder the younger men aside but the hand he stretched forward to Sir Arthur was not to be ignored. ‘Honoured, Sir Arthur. Honoured. May I offer my congratulations on your triumph?’
Lord Frederick frowned. ‘George, I don’t think is a suitable subject for ladies.’
‘What? Oh.’ George bowed to Miss Berry. ‘Beg pardon, ma’am. Beg pardon, but . . .’ He turned to Sir Arthur. ‘I must tell you, sir, it is my dearest wish to join the army.’
The Major-General’s eyebrows drew together above the hooked nose. ‘Surely that is simple enough? Commissions are easy come by.’
George coloured. ‘His Grace is not inclined to permit it.’
‘Really?’ His eyes scoured the Ellonby boys’ faces.
Frederick cleared his throat. ‘Our father is in poor health, sir. He is anxious for the succession.’
‘Really?’ The eyebrows rose again. ‘Do you not have your own heirs, sir?’ George shook his head. ‘A wife?’ Another shake. ‘Then the solution is simple. Get yourself a wife, sir, and set to it.’
Mary Berry hurried to interrupt. ‘I think, ladies, my sister will be anxious to meet you. If you will excuse us, Sir Arthur?’
‘Of course. Of course.’ The aquiline features formed themselves into an air of pleasure. ‘Miss Orksville, delighted to make your acquaintance. Miss Neave, pray give my compliments to your Papa.’ He reached out for her hand and bowed over it. ‘I must say I would enjoy the pleasure of standing up with you at Almack’s.’
Wilhelmina stepped quickly forward. ‘I fear, sir we have no vouchers for Miss Neave despite His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales being pleased to comment favourably upon her when she was presented.’
‘Indeed? You’ve been presented, have you? Well, we must see what we can do for vouchers, Miss Orksville. I shall find a moment to drop a word in Sally Jersey’s ear. Service to the country deserves to be properly appreciated.’
Wilhelmina exerted considerable effort to suppress the enormous smile she felt creeping across her thin features. Lady Jersey was the very one of Almack’s patronesses she had wished, had schemed, to approach. Nevertheless delight filled her eyes. ‘Most kind of you, sir. Thank you.’ She turned. ‘Araminta, thank Sir Arthur for his most generous offer.’
Araminta dropped a small curtsey. ‘Thank you, sir. Papa will be most gratified.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Sir Arthur bowed again.
The ladies curtseyed and Miss Berry led them away. Freed from the constraints of female presence, an unrepentant George begged details of the Major-General’s most recent command.
At his brother’s side, Frederick watched them depart. Barely half of his attention was taken by the Commander’s brief dismissal of the trials of his recent action. Even that interest vanished when he saw Lucius Renford cross the garden to Araminta. When he bent close to her and won a laugh, Frederick bowed. ‘I beg you to excuse me, Sir Arthur.’
Without waiting for an acknowledgement he strode away. The elegant Everett Blythburgh hastily bowed to Sir Arthur fairly and trotted in his wake.
Across the lawn Araminta was looking up into the Viscount’s face. The whole length of her pale gown trembled. Frederick was certain she must be bouncing from foot to foot. Her very parasol seemed to quiver with excitement. As he drew closer he could see the flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.
Trelowen looked at him over her head. ‘Well, Frederick. How goes it for George with Sir Arthur?’
‘I have no idea.’
A muscle beside the Viscount’s mouth twitched. ‘Dull company indeed, I fear.’ He sent a warm glance over Araminta. ‘I am the more fortunate today.’
‘I’m sure George will enjoy any conversation with Sir Arthur,’ Frederick announced. ‘He is quite a hero to him.’ The tips of Frederick’s ears reddened. ‘Though I’m certain he would enjoy your company too, of course, Miss Neave,’ he added quickly.
‘Fiddlesticks,’ Araminta said. She lifted her shining eyes to the Viscount. ‘Lord Trelowen has been telling me how easy it is to drive a phaeton.’ The parasol trembled above her head. ‘I wish mine was ready. It’s taking an age.’
Wilhelmina’s calm voice washed over the group. ‘I doubt driving a phaeton is a suitable activity for any young girl. Far too extreme.’
‘Oh, I don’t care. It will be the most excellent thing. And anyway, papa promised me one.’
Trelowen’s mouth quirked and a short breath issued from it. ‘Such excellent courage, Miss Neave, should not be denied.’
‘Araminta,’ Wilhelmina said. ‘I think I see Miss Berry signalling.’ She placed a hand under Araminta’s elbow. ‘Excuse us, Lord Trelowen.’
She practically pushed Araminta away from the Viscount. He watched the retreat, burying a chuckle in his throat. ‘Lively creature, don’t you think, Frederick?’ He waved an undirected hand and wandered off to smile into the face of the nearest maid holding a tray of glasses.
‘I say, Freddie.’ Everett lowered his voice. ‘I don’t think it’ll be quite the thing for Miss Neave to drive herself in London.’
‘I know,’ Frederick replied. ‘I’m not that green.’ He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘I hope to goodness Miss Orksville is alive to it.’
‘She certa
inly whisked her away as soon as may be.’ Everett cleared his throat. ‘If you’re hoping to persuade your Mama to invite her to Lidgate . . . well, it would be best if she wasn’t seen in Trelowen’s company, don’t you know?’
Frederick’s hands sunk deeper into his pockets. ‘I know. I know.’ He looked across the lawn. Miss Orksville and Araminta were seated at a table taking sips of lemonade and discoursing with Miss Agnes Berry. His head drooped on a sigh. It suddenly became important to him to preserve Miss Neave from Trelowen’s attentions. Not least in case his Mama might disincline to invite her. After two heartbeats, he raised his head again. ‘Perhaps she’ll call for the carriage before Trelowen sees fit to leave.’
To Frederick’s relief, Wilhelmina did indeed do so. Walking to the house’s entrance with Araminta she sent a maid to summon Mr Blythburgh and George.
Everett arrived beside her on the front steps. ‘Frederick has gone for his horse, ma’am. And his brother,’ he added, very much an afterthought.
‘Thank you, Mr Blythburgh. I must own to a certain fatigue in this heat. I have decided to face the return journey before I become inconvenienced by it.’
Disbelieving every word of it, Everett treated this comment with the respect it deserved. ‘Indeed, ma’am. It is as well to be cautious.’
Araminta was paying no attention at all to the exchange. Turning and twisting, she was clearly looking for someone.
The barouche drew up before them. Wilhelmina allowed a solicitous Everett to assist her to enter. She settled herself in comfort and looked to her charge. ‘Come along, Araminta.’
‘Oh, can’t we wait a few minutes?’
‘Only until Lord Levington arrives.’
‘Freddie has gone for him,’ Everett repeated. ‘I’m sure it will be seconds only.’
‘Oh dear.’ Araminta lifted her hem and climbed into the barouche, all the time looking over her shoulder. Frederick hustled George down the front steps before she was settled.
‘Ah, here he is,’ Everett said.
‘Beg pardon, ma’am.’ George leapt into the barouche, crushing Everett’s foot in the process. ‘I was still engrossed with Sir Arthur.’ He flopped onto the seat, causing the carriage to rock. His face glowed. ‘He has offered me a post as a secretary, ma’am. Such an honour. I can’t thank you enough.’ There was no need for anyone to guess at his pleasure. His expression more than matched Araminta’s when she had discussed phaetons with Lord Trelowen.
Wilhelmina gave the signal to move off and began a gentle conversation with Everett, leaving George to reflect in silence upon his good fortune and Araminta to twist and stare behind her.
Standing on the steps, Frederick had no illusion that she was looking at him. He spun on his heel and ran around the house to where the horses were tethered. Lounging on a chair in the shade of the largest tree and paying scant attention to the conversation around him, Lucius Renford watched Frederick hustle the lounging grooms to their feet. One lifted his saddle from the grass and fairly flung it onto his horse.
The barouche had crossed Richmond bridge and was pulling away from the river by the time Frederick reached them. He doffed his hat. ‘Might I suggest we adopt a faster pace, Miss Orksville?’
‘Whatever for?’
‘I . . . um . . .’ Frederick stared about him. He cast his eyes heavenwards. ‘I fear it might soon rain. There are . . . um . . . were clouds gathering at Strawberry Hill when I left.’
Wilhelmina examined the sky that stretched clear blue from horizon to horizon. ‘Really, Lord Frederick?’
‘Indeed, ma’am. I most urgently advise it.’
‘Oh, no,’ Araminta said. ‘There is not the slightest hint of rain. There can be no need to hurry.’
Wilhelmina studied her face. ‘I think perhaps you are correct, Lord Frederick. A faster pace would be advisable. Pilton, put the horses to the trot please.’
The driver tipped his hat and flicked the reins. The barouche lurched forward. Araminta twisted round and stared backwards.
The village of Sheen was rising before them when the reason for her inattention and Frederick’s concern became apparent. Lord Trelowen’s phaeton tooled up the main street behind them. He reined in beside the barouche.
‘We meet again.’ He tapped his whip to his hat. ‘Miss Neave, I believe you expressed an interest in driving a phaeton. Allow me to offer you the chance to practice in mine.’
‘Oh, yes, yes.’ Araminta leapt up from her seat. ‘Stop, Pilton. Stop.’
The barouche swayed as Pilton pulled on the reins. Araminta wobbled and tumbled back onto the cushions, knocking her bonnet askew. Laughter gurgled in her throat. Her eyes met Trelowen’s and he grinned at her.
‘Come along then, Miss Neave. Your carriage awaits.’
‘Araminta,’ Wilhelmina frowned heavily. ‘You are not to alight. It is not at all the proper thing to do.’
‘Nonsense. Lord Trelowen is quite respectable.’ The horses slowed. Araminta gripped the side of the carriage with one hand and pushed her bonnet back into place with the other.
Everett cast an anxious glance at Frederick. His lordship was scowling mightily and chewing his lip.
The exchange was not lost on the Viscount. A malicious light filled his eyes. ‘Of course I’m respectable,’ he said. ‘You need have no fears on that account, Miss Orksville.’ He jerked his head at his tiger clutching onto the rear seat. The man leapt down. He ran round and grabbed the bridles of the pair of sweating horses.
Spots of colour entered Wilhelmina’s cheeks. ‘Really, I must insist –’
Araminta cut her short. ‘I’ll be fine. . .’ She opened the low door and jumped down.
‘I say, Miss Neave . . .’ Everett began. His words faded.
Araminta rushed to the phaeton. There was no way any female could mount into a high-flyer in anything approaching a modest fashion. Araminta bunched her skirts in one hand and put a foot on the lower of the two narrow metal bars that served as steps. She stretched her other hand up to Trelowen. Eyes glittering, he reached down and heaved her upwards. Her feet flashed confidently up the side. Hopping over his legs, she landed on the seat beside him, flushed and open mouthed with laughing delight.
Silence filled the barouche. Not only did Araminta’s precipitous climb reveal her ankles it exposed her legs to her knees. Everett raised a hand to shield his eyes. Frederick glared. Even George stared, mouth slack. Only Wilhelmina kept her eyes fixedly to the front. Pressed firmly together, her lips narrowed.
Trelowen flicked his whip and the phaeton lurched forward. Araminta whooped with delight and clung onto his arm.
Sitting rigidly upright, Wilhelmina said, ‘Lord Frederick, please be good enough to follow them.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Have no fear. Be assured I shall keep them in view at all times.’ Frederick kicked his heels into his horse’s sides and set off in pursuit.
Hands clasped tightly in her lap, Wilhelmina told a gawping Pilton to drive on.
Chapter Sixteen
The house in St James Square was in uproar. The youngest footman had been sent – in a hackney no less – to summon Mr Neave from his office in the City. The maids had been instructed to pack Miss Orksville’s clothes, shoes, books, brushes and anything else of hers currently in her bedroom or about the house. Treading ponderously across the hall to the small parlour, Nesbit discovered the cook and one of the maids hovering outside the door.
‘What do you think you’re about, Mrs Fowley?’ he hissed. ‘Be off downstairs.’
The cook shot him a glare from under the frill of the mob cap perched on her bundled hair. ‘We’ve just as much right as you to know what the fuss is about, Mr Nesbit,’ she hissed. ‘I wanna know if I’m keeping my position.’
The maid peeped round the cook’s plump body, tears on her cheeks. ‘Oo, Mr Nesbit, sir. D’you think we’ll be turned off? Ma’
s only got me wages to live on since Pa was lost at Trafalgar and I’ve three sisters younger’n me.’
Nesbit pulled a noisy breath in through his nose. ‘Don’t be so silly, Matty. And don’t be loitering around here. Be off.’
Wrapping her crumpled apron round her hands Matty scampered across the hall to the door behind the stairs. It banged shut behind her.
The cook looked at the closed door. ‘You’re unreasoning harsh on her,’ she said. ‘Her ma’s a sick woman. She’s right to fret herself about her.’
The butler ran a hand through his hair. ‘Truth to tell, I dunno what’s going on. That Orksville woman has a face on her that’ud sour milk and the young miss is up in the salon flouncing about like she’s ants in her slippers.’
The front door flew open. Archibald Neave stood on the threshold. ‘What’s all this fuss about, Nesbit? Is ’Minta hurt?’
Mrs Fowley bobbed a curtsey and hurried away. The servants’ door banged shut again.
‘No, sir,’ Nesbit said. ‘I believe Miss Orksville is anxious to speak to you.’
‘Speak to me? Speak to me? Is that all?’ Archibald scowled. ‘Whatever it is, I doubt it needed me here so quick. I’ve had to leave –’ He broke off. ‘Where is she?’
Nesbit indicated the parlour. ‘In there, sir.’
‘Right. Well, be away now.’ Archibald flapped a plump hand at him and waddled towards the parlour. ‘I’ll ring if you’re needed.’
He opened the door. Miss Wilhelmina Orksville rose from her place on the settee.
‘Well, ma’am. What’s all this fuss about?’
Wilhelmina folded her hands at her dark gown’s high waist. ‘I regret that I can no longer undertake the task you require, Mr Neave. I shall be leaving as soon as we have finished talking.’
Archibald’s mouth dropped open, compressing his chins into a series of folds. ‘What?’
‘I regret –’
‘Yes, yes I heard that. But what’s it mean?’
Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) Page 13
